


Wonderland

by buffyaddict13



Category: Band of Brothers, Criminal Minds, Dollhouse, Firefly, Generation Kill, Kill Point, ken park
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Angst, F/M, Gen, Mental Health Issues, Mental Institutions, psychiatric facility, this fic is crazier than any of the characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-10
Updated: 2012-08-10
Packaged: 2017-11-11 20:29:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 32,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/482609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buffyaddict13/pseuds/buffyaddict13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anybody could slap a bandage over a bleeding wound. But to fix somebody with wounds you couldn't see? That was badass. That was Marine, yo. Instead of NVGs and GPS and comms, you used your own mind to try and heal somebody else's. Ray Person, George Luz and Simon Tam are nurses at a psychiatric hospital.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is literally the craziest fic I have ever written. This is an AU fic that merges several fandoms I enjoy. There is actual plot and character development. I think. You can read this if you're not familiar with all--or any--of the fandoms, but you'll enjoy it more if you've seen the various television shows/movie. Although I can't in good conscience actually recommend watching Ken Park. 
> 
> This fic serves three purposes: 1) A vague sequel to Baghdad Ain't Shit, 2) Lets me mash my favorite characters into one fic and 3) Hopefully, maybe, entertains you.

If you're not familiar with the characters here are some videos you might want to check out:  [Josh Ray Person, ](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E7BtZMCUmmw&playnext_from=TL&videos=Ex4XDkK3eys) [George Luz](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zR7f01YM0j8&playnext_from=TL&videos=K-cTRcpLSrg) ,  [Alpha](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zhpVhToawSQ&feature=related) ,  [River Tam and Simon Tam](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m73L3nMHxM4&playnext_from=TL&videos=TACeUaWdVj8),  [Amanda/Adam Jackson and Doctor Spencer Reid](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yrZq52Qw3sI&playnext_from=TL&videos=AkgC1g532mI) ,  [Nathan Harris and Doctor Spencer Reid](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r4oCDak4zww&playnext_from=TL&videos=eIRqvscc5X0) ,  [Tate Connor](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hrP3wrBhFLE&playnext_from=TL&videos=obl-n9jc9vM) .

 

Sorry, I realized these chapters were posted out of order. I think I've fixed everything now.

  


  


_"But I don't want to go among mad people," Alice remarked.  
"Oh, you can't help that," said the Cat: "we're all mad here. I'm mad. You're mad."  
"How do you know I'm mad?" said Alice.  
"You must be," said the Cat, "or you wouldn't have come here."_  
~ Lewis Carroll,  _Alice's Adventures in Wonderland_

 

[Ray Person](http://pics.livejournal.com/buffyaddict13/pic/000wa0k7/s640x480) locks his car, slings his rucksack over his shoulder, and jogs past the sea of chrome to the main entrance. It's Wednesday but it might as well be Monday because he just finished his two day "weekend."  [Luz](http://pics.livejournal.com/buffyaddict13/pic/000w7ycr/s640x480)  is leaning against one of the gay-ass decorative pillars, smoking like he's on his last cigarette ever.

There's only two things that make George inhale nicotine like it's just replaced air. Either his wife is pissed at him, or it's newbie day. Shit. Hopefully Luz's wife is fucking pissed.

Ray opens his mouth to ask, but George blurts out: "The Cuckoo's Nest." He stares at Ray. Inhales, exhales. "You know, like the movie."

Christ, that's pretty weak. Especially for Luz. Ray considers, comes up with: "Our Lady of the Perpetual Headcase."

George nods, squints into the distance. "Saint Sybil."

"Glass Houses Treatment Facility."

They look at each other. Luz lets out a heavy sigh. He drops his cigarette, crushes it with his gay rubber-soled nursing shoe. Only Ray can't call Luz's shoes gay because he wears the same kind. 

Luz shrugs. "I admit defeat, man. Our Lady of the Perpetual Headcase is the clear winner."

"No shit, homes. The Cuckoo's Nest?"

George shrugs. "My first thought was U.R. Fucked Wellness Facility. Like, with initials."

"Now  _that_  is fucking retarded, homes."

"But apt."

The doors slide open as Ray and George approach. Ray goes first, followed by George. "Oh no, don't tell me we're getting a new one."

"Okay, but even if I don't tell you, you're probably gonna notice." George smiles and he looks a little too fucking smug for Ray's liking. "That's what you get for having time off."

"Fuck you, man. You're not taking your days off, that's what you're telling me?"

"I'm telling you you're stuck with shit-ass coffee from the vending machine for the week, that's what I'm telling you."

Ray shrugs. "That's better than that fucking Starbucks shit any day."

At this point they're both lying their asses off, because on the rare occasion Simon plays--and wins-- _Awesome Names for Psychiatric Hospitals_ , he always brings in Starbucks. And George and Ray are forced to drink their cafe mochas in Alpha's room so Simon doesn't see the looks of mingled shame and satisfaction on their faces.

"Who we getting?" Ray wants to know.

"Mmmm," Luz mutters. "I don't know much. Simon's the one who saw the file on Reid's desk. Mid-thirties with PTSD, suicidal thoughts, depression, you name it."

Ray punches the elevator button harder than he needs to. "Fuck me sideways," Ray grunts. "Another vet."

George rolls his eyes. "You don't know that."

The elevator opens and a female nurse steps off. Somebody from the adolescent ward, eating disorders or some shit. They all nod at each other like a couple of bobble heads and then Ray and George get in the elevator.

Ray stabs the number four with his index finger, grim. The post-traumatic stress disorder cases are almost always military veterans. It fucking sucks.

* * *

They ride up to the fourth floor in silence. George is leaning against the shiny not-quite-mirrored wall, arms folded. Ray paces. He has a hard time sitting still. Maybe it's a long-term side effect from all that Ripped Fuel back in the day. He hasn't touched the stuff in four years, but if he's not tapping his feet or his fingers his skin starts to feel crawly. He has a vague idea he's going to spontaneously combust. Or punch someone.

Luz is just the opposite. The only part of Luz moves is his mouth. He's always shooting the shit, cracking jokes. Ray used to think he was funny until he met George. Goddamn Portuguese asshole is always showing him up, making the patients laugh. Fuck, there's a rumor Luz joked some poor bastard out of a catatonic state at the hospital he used to work at. Ray wouldn't be surprised.

Ray's been working as a registered psychiatric nurse for four years now. He's been at Silver Hills for three of those four years. George has worked here for five. They both call the hospital Silver Balls, mostly because it annoys Simon. Come to think of it, they do a lot of shit because it annoys  [Simon](http://pics.livejournal.com/buffyaddict13/pic/000wc7bf) .

When Ray got back from Iraq he spent months feeling lost, restless, ill at ease. Sadie tried to fuck the sadness out of him, and it worked for a while. They moved in together, bought furniture that didn't need to be assembled, went for walks. Sadie cooked him meals that included vegetables and meat that didn't come out of MRE pouches. She went to work every day while Ray sat around the house and wondered if it had been a mistake not to reenlist.

Sadie worked at the county hospital. She was a pediatric oncology nurse. She poked needles into dying kids, but when she came home she still smiled at Ray, kissed him. Obviously this meant she was some kind of sexy robot. Maybe one of those cylons from Battlestar Whateverthefuck. Because everybody knows women cried over shit like that. Old people who still held hands, homeless kittens, and dying kids. Those were the big three faucets to start the waterworks, right?

Only Sadie sat him down and said she didn't feel like crying--most of the time--because it was her job to make the kids feel better. Helping the kids feel better helped  _her_ . And if Ray wanted to feel better, do something with his life that didn't include carrying a BFG in the desert, or working with retards who made him want to shoot himself, maybe he should quit whining and walk a mile in her ugly-ass shoes.

So he did.

At least the shoes were comfortable.

And just like that, Ray found himself gravitating toward psychiatry. Anybody could slap a bandage over a bleeding wound. But to fix somebody with wounds you couldn't see? That was badass. That was Marine, yo. You had to pay attention to the patients, because you couldn't always see what was going on. It was sort of like recon. Only instead of NVGs and GPS and comms and rope and and scuba shit, you used your own mind to try and help heal somebody else's. Hell, your brain was like those screwby comms; sometimes you got a short circuit and a need a new connection, homes.

When Ray told Brad where he was working, the Iceman laughed for a good five minutes. "Ray, I always knew you'd end up in a fucking loony bin."

"At least I got my brain back, Brad," Ray snapped. 

"That, Corporal Person, is still up for debate."

So now Ray walks down the hallway in his blue scrubs. He's traded one uniform for another. Granted, this uniform is shit compared to his dress blues, but he's not as likely to get shot or blown into human confetti either. Luz marches alongside, stops beside the vending machine, jingles the change in his pocket.

"What'll it be, Pers? Vanilla, Hazelnut, or plain old leaded?"

They all taste like shit, so it hardly matters. "Surprise me," Ray says loftily. 

Next to the vending machine is a large door with a window. There's a key-card slot next to the door. The fourth floor holds both locked wards. The east ward has fifteen beds, and is meant for the adult crazies. The west ward has twenty and is for the adolescent crazies. The lower floors are more or less open, except for the suicide hold unit and on-call clinic. 

Volcanic hot coffee dribbles into the waiting paper cup. Ray takes the cup, sips cautiously. It tastes like a combination of oil, scorched earth, and vanilla extract.

"Fuck. I just burned the top layer of skin off my tongue."

"Christ, don't be such a fucking baby."

Luz holds his own cup in one hand, slides his ID card through the reader with the other. The lock mechanism clicks open and Ray pulls the door open.

* * *

There are fifteen beds in the inpatient ward, but only eight of the beds are currently full. The goal is to get the patients stabilized with meds and various therapies, and then move them to the outpatient building, then a half-way house and then, maybe--hopefully--toward some kind of independent living.

Ray's family and friends were stunned by his choice to work with the mentally ill. What Ray didn't bother telling them was, he'd been working with the mentally ill for _years_ . The nursing degree's great and everything, but dealing with Captain American and Trombley was all the training Ray really needed. Encino Man doesn't count because he wasn't insane, just mega retarded. Ray has respect for the mentally ill as well as actual retards. Except for the ones who join the Marines to become Captains or Majors.

Simon's with  [River](http://pics.livejournal.com/buffyaddict13/pic/000wedqz) , as usual. Mario's behind the desk, phone to his ear. He holds his big black hand up for a high five as Person and Luz walk past. The two nurses oblige.

River Tam looks up at Ray, sticks out her tongue. Ray sticks his tongue out in return. This is River's standard greeting. If she likes you. If she doesn't like you, you get a wall of silence, or occasionally, a book tossed at your head. And River has killer aim.

She's eighteen, and just came off the adolescent ward. She's been here the longest of all the current patients. The amazing thing about River isn't that she was considered a genius in her old life, or that she's kind of hot for a nutjob. It's that her brother was some big shot surgeon in New York, but once River was diagnosed with schizophrenia, he gave up his seven figure salary. He applied for a nursing position at Silver Balls just so he could be with her. So Simon's basically the most overqualified nurse in the history of ever. Not to mention he might be even crazier than River. 

Simon Tam is so uptight he makes Brad Colbert look fucking laid back. Sometimes Ray's pretty sure he can see the stick jammed up Tam's ass. Not that he's looking at Simon's ass. But even if Ray finds Simon a bitchy self righteous dick suck, River thinks he walks on water. She really does seem more lucid when her brother's around. Simon is the only one who gets through to her. 

The other schizo on the ward is  [Alpha](http://pics.livejournal.com/buffyaddict13/pic/000wf9zp) . He's a big dude, all muscles, blond hair, and blue eyes. He looks like a shorter, less Nordic Iceman. But despite his macho appearance, Alpha is seriously fucked. Luz and Ray have a helpful scale for each patient:  _fucked, really fucked_ , or _seriously fucked_ . It's a nice shorthand for when you're in a hurry. The day Alpha came in, Luz and Ray both whispered "SF" at the same time. It's a bonus that Simon  _hates_  their handy catalog system. Ray doesn't see why, River's only RF.

Alpha is seriously fucked because not only does he hear voices, he has Dissociative Identity Disorder. Alpha is  _also_  seriously fucked because not only does Alpha not know who the hell he is, neither does anybody else. The police found him five months back, wandering around the street, naked. Which, granted, is a bold look, but not when you're eating out of a trash can and crying. Alpha's finger tips are fucked up. Simon and Reid think his fingerprints were burned off. Which sounds like Jason Bourne movie bullshit to Ray. 

But despite Doctor Reid's filing a missing persons report, no one's come forward. Which means they have no medical history, no background, no nothing on Alpha. The only reason they call the guy Alpha in the first place is because it's how he refers to himself when he's wearing his psycho personality. Alpha has this way of looking at you like you're less than a bug. Less than shit, even. Like he could snap your neck with a glare. It's fucking creepy. When Alpha isn't being Alpha, he's usually Ben. Ben thinks he's an Air Force pilot who fought in Operation Iraqi Freedom.

So whoever Alpha is, he's probably just another guy who got fucked over by the military. Awesome. So far, Reid's counted at least seventeen different alters. Ray has the feeling Alpha's not going to be an outpatient any time soon, the poor bastard.

[Amanda](http://pics.livejournal.com/buffyaddict13/pic/000wgwrz)  has DID too. Only she's not really a  _she_ . Amanda is Adam Jackson, a twenty year old kid who had the shit beat out of him by his father. Oh, and he was repeatedly raped and forced to wear girls' clothes. Ray actually thought about introducing Adam's fuckface of a dad to his M16, but it turns out good old dad overdosed on drugs. Ray's surprised Adam's not Alpha level crazy considering all the fucked up shit he went through. The shittiest thing is, nobody's actually talked to Adam, because Amanda's been the dominant personality ever since she killed some asshole who reminded her of Adam's dad. And yeah, killing is a no go if you're not a Marine, blah blah, but  _Christ._

It's a weird and fucked up situation. Doctor Reid's spent a lot of time with Amanda. Reid's not just a psychiatrist, he's a forensic psychiatrist, which means he can decide who's fit for trial and shit like that. Reid decided Amanda's just fine at Silver Balls and the various lawyers can fuck off, thanks. Only Reid was probably more polite about it. Which is a fucking relief because why should Adam go to prison for the shit Amanda did? Ray tries not to think about what happened to Adam too much. If he does,  _he's_  liable to go crazy.

Jesus fucking  _fuck_ . And people wonder why he and Sadie don't have kids. Because they can get royally fucked up and turn out like Alpha or Adam. Or they can can be in the middle of earning a degree at Harvard and suddenly lose their marbles like River. And if they don't get fucked up, or go crazy, then they'll just die of cancer. Ray's gonna pass on that shit, thanks.

The last two patients are  [Nathan Harris](http://pics.livejournal.com/buffyaddict13/pic/000w9035)  and  [Tate Connor](http://pics.livejournal.com/buffyaddict13/pic/000wdfa9) . Their diagnosis is similar, but their personalities are about one fucking billion miles apart. Tate's your basic sociopath. He has no empathy and few emotions. One of the emotions Tate  _does_ possess is a fuckload of rage. And he's always eager to share it with everyone around him. Two years ago Tate stabbed his grandparents to death and stole his grandpa's dentures. It took a sedative and two orderlies to get those fucking things out of Tate's mouth. Connor ended up in Silver Balls after he started eating random shit in Juvie. Eating random shit like dirt, cigarette ashes, crayons, anything that isn't food is called pica. The pica's not as bad since he started regular therapy with Reid. Ray tells himself Tate's just as sick as River, but he's not very convincing. Grandma Arlene died years ago, but the thought of a fucking asshole like Tate stabbing her makes Ray feel sick.

Nathan's missing that whole range of normal human emotions too. Just like Tate, Nathan's three for three on the Macdonald Triad of psychopathic indicators. What Nathan  _doesn't_  have is a rap sheet. He hasn't killed anyone. But he wants to. He's always going on and on about killing whores. Christ, keep him the hell out of Thailand then. Mrs. Harris hired Reid to evaluate Nathan. The evaluation earned Nathan a new home at Silver Balls, with a quick detour to the hospital after he tried to slit his wrists. Luz says Reid's the one who found Nathan, called the EMTs and saved the kid's life. Jeez, what a fucking show-off.

Even locked up, Nathan can't stand to be around women. Apparently he's petrified he's gonna snap and stab them with a plastic spoon or take a chomp out of their jugular vein. There aren't any female nurses on their ward, so when River transferred over everybody was nervous Nathan might freak out. Only he didn't. It might be Nathan's only interested in hooker types with big juggs, but he pretty much ignores River. Maybe it's because her brother is a nurse. Maybe it's because he's getting better. Whatever it is, Ray's fucking relieved.

Luz walks straight over to Nathan, perches on the arm of the couch. He ruffles Nathan's hair. "Hey kid, how's it going?"

Nathan's smile is slight, almost shy. He shrugs. "Fine."

Nathan doesn't talk much. When he does talk, he's always soft spoken. Polite. He certainly doesn't sound the way Ray expects serial killer wannabes to sound. But Nathan always talks to Luz. There's something about George that makes the kid smile. Then again, there's something about George that makes  _everyone_  smile.

George Luz is fucking deceptive. He's this little guy, shorter than Ray--and that's fucking  _short_ \--with thick black hair and a crooked grin. He exudes friendliness. So not only do people think he's funny, they automatically like him. Except for Tate, but Tate doesn't count because he's fucking crazy. 

Ray definitely has more of his brain than he did in the Marines, but there's still plenty of retardation in the civilian world. Particularly when dealing with health care, insurance, and administrative bullshit. But Ray's good at his job, none of the other nurses are half as retarded as Encino Man, and Doctor Reid is a fucking awesome boss...even if he does look twelve. Ray doesn't have to tuck his shirt in. He can grow his hair long. And best of all, there's no fucking grooming standard at Silver Balls.

* * *

"When's the new guy coming?" Luz asks Simon.

Simon shrugs.

Nathan turns nervous eyes on George. "Is it...is it a guy?"

Luz nods, pats Nathan's shoulder. "Yup."

River covers her face with her hands. "Stop asking me so many questions."

Simon frowns. "River, I haven't asked you anything yet."

"You want to know how I slept. Do I have lack of interest in communication? Am I maintaining nutritional status? Can I perform daily living activities? Can I contribute to society? Do I have the ability to reason?" She uncovers her face, looks at Simon. Her voice trembles. "Do I exhibit difficulty with memory?"

She slides away from Simon. She's wearing a long flowered dress, and a tattered cardigan sweater. Black leggings peep out from the bottom of her dress. Her feet are bare. Her long brown hair is uncombed, it hides her face like a veil.

River holds up her hands, counts off on her fingers: "I didn't, yes, yes, yes, no, I find this question unreasonable, and I remember too much, too much, too much." 

Alpha's watching River. So is Tate. Amanda and Nathan are playing cards.

Simon reaches for his sister, but she spins out of his reach and runs for her room.

Simon stares after her, visibly upset. "Dammit."

"She'll be okay," Alpha says softly. Then he tips his head, blinks into another personality, and shouts: "I distinctly remember asking for pancakes!"

"Shut the fuck up," Tate seethes. 

Amanda looks up from her hand. "Is the new guy cute?"

Ray winks at her. "What the fuck do you care? I'm cute."

Amanda grins. "Looks like we're not the only delusional ones here."

"Ha ha," Ray mutters, but he's smiling. Amanda can be bitchy, but she's easier to deal with than River. You never know what the fuck's gonna happen with River.

Luz is over by Alpha. "Sorry, pal. No pancakes today."

But pancake guy is already gone. Ben grins at George. "Jump out of any airplanes lately?"

"I jumped out of helicopters, dude. You fly any A-10s lately?"

Ben sighs. "No. That's why the ol' light bulbs burnt out. Too much time on the ground. I gotta get back in the sky, charge the batteries."

"Your batteries are just fine," George says.

"You know that story about flying too close to the sun, Ben?" Ray asks. "You're fine right here."

Ben shakes his head. "If you mean trapped in a meaningless and empty life, then yes. I'm extremely fine."

"Christ," George huffs. "If I manage to find you pancakes, will that give you meaning?"

"Don't you want to know how I slept?" Tate demands querulously.

Ray pulls up a chair next to Tate, clipboard in hand. Tate has thick black hair that sticks up at gravity-defying angles. He has this ability to look like he's about to cry even with he's cursing you out. It creeps Ray out. So does the fact Tate looks a lot like Ray did in his senior high school picture.

"Okay, Tate. How did you sleep?"

Tate's eyes narrow, he shows his teeth in what might be loosely considered a smile. "None of your fucking business."

Ray leans back in his chair. This little fuck is not gonna piss him off. No, sir. Ray's been to fucking war. He's a fucking warrior at heart. This 19 year old dipshit psycho denture-stealing fuck is not going to get the best of Ray Person this particular Wednesday morning.

Ray nods amicably. "Hey man, you don't wanna tell me how you slept or answer my questions, that's your business, dude. But if you don't cooperate you're just gonna stay in here longer. Which means more time with me and more of my fucking questions." 

Person wants to slap the answers out of this cunt, not to mention crush his tiny balls for killing his grandparents. But that kind of shit is generally frowned upon by Doctor Reid, the hospital attorneys, and the Board of Directors. Not to mention unprofessional. And Ray is a fucking professional, dammit, whether he's a Marine or a nurse in shit-ugly scrubs.

Tate pouts. "I slept fine. I dreamed of my dog. He had three legs but he was cool. Except when he barked. He was always barking too fucking loud." He looks at Ray, all anger gone. "Can I see my dog?"

Most of Ray's anger melts with Tate's. 

"I'll see what I can do."

* * *

By 1000 hours the morning interviews are over, breakfast has been eaten, and meds distributed. When handing out meds, you always watch to make sure the patients take them. Otherwise you tend to find pills under couch cushions, floating in toilet bowls, or jammed into the fake fern in the corner.  _Observe everything, admire nothing._  Even now, Fick's orders come in handy.

River's in her room, carefully tearing heart shapes out of red construction paper.

Ben is paging through a book called  _The History of Aviation_  Reid brought in. Tate's playing a game of Connect Four by himself. Amanda and Nathan are both reading.

George is filling out paperwork beside Mario, Simon's jotting down patient notes for Reid. Ray's humming Metallica's  _Damage, Inc._  while taking inventory of the meds cabinet when the outer door opens.

[Doctor Spencer Reid](http://pics.livejournal.com/buffyaddict13/pic/000wkyb2)  walks in with a Mexican looking dude. The dude is hollow-eyed, his chin is stubbled; he looks like shit. He's holding onto a duffel bag and Reid guides the newbie forward, two big orderlies following in case newbie tries anything.

Frankly, newbie looks like walking is taking more energy than he has, so Ray's not too worried. But it's always possible Tate will freak out or one of Alpha's personalities might hate Mexicans. God knows there are plenty of people with one personality who fall into that category. All at once Ray misses Espera, wonders what the cocksucker's up to. Maybe he'll call him.

Maybe.

Doctor Reid stops at the far end of the rec room. "I'd like you to meet  [Jake Mendez](http://pics.livejournal.com/buffyaddict13/pic/000w8a4x) ," Reid says in his soft, clear voice. His hand flutters near Jake like he's going to touch Jake's shoulder, but he doesn't. "Please treat him with the respect he deserves."

Reid thinks everyone deserves respect. He's got a hand-lettered poster on the wall of his office that says  _When you respect others you respect yourself_  which is gayer than gay. Brad would fucking  _hate_  Reid. Ray hated him at first too. But despite Reid's towering IQ, his myriad degrees, his Jesus hair and grandpa clothes, it's obvious Spencer genuinely cares about the patients. And staff. Ray suspects Reid is one of those weirdo bleeding heart liberal tree-hugging compost heap loving fucks who carry spiders outside in dainty handkerchiefs rather than killing them.

Reid leads Jake down the hall to his new room. The orderlies leave. The patients go back to being bored. Except for River. She's standing by the window, looking down at the path that winds through a little garden and over a small man-made hill. Ray's guessing that lone hill is supposed to be hospital's namesake.

"His sadness is very heavy," River says, her back to the rest of the room.

Ray wonders how she knows. She never even looked at Mendez.

* * *

Person realizes Luz is gone twenty minutes before group therapy's due to start. Amanda's gone too.

"Yo, Mario. Luz take Jackson for a smoke break?"

Mario nods.

"They should both quit," Simon says, his tone implying smoking is on par with cannibalism and/or drop-kicking babies.

"You should quit," Ray grumbles.

"Quit what?" Simon asks, affronted.

"Talking would be a good start." Ray turns to Mario. "Do you mind if I run get them?"

"Bring me a Diet Coke on your way back," the black man says, "and it's all good."

Ray cards himself out the door, past the coffee vending machine, and down four flights of steps. The steps come out next to the side entrance which leads to the smoking area. The smoking area is a single stone bench and a planter filled with cigarette butts. Ray shoulders the door open to find Amanda on the bunch, George a few feet away. They're both smoking.

Amanda's watching a handful of patients walk the grounds, a gardener water flowers. Luz's gaze is turned inward. Ray recognizes that look. He's seen it on Brad and Walt and Rudy plenty of times. It means you're remembering shit you don't want to remember.

"You know what Reid told me?"

Ray shakes his head. He's pretty sure he's about to find out.

"Mendez was a Marine, just like you. He spent a year in Leavenworth for killing 16 men. You know what that is?" Luz's usually calm voice is hard. He exhales a ring of smoke, shakes his head bitterly. "That sounds like bullshit for disobeying some fucking order that's gonna get everybody killed. So when some other boot fuck obeys the order and they all get killed, Mendez gets the blame."

Luz's face is pale, eyes watery. Ray tells himself it's from the smoke. George's dark hair spills over his forehead. He waves his hands in frustration, the cigarette still dangling from his mouth.

Ray thinks of Encino Man's orders to mark the mine field at night. Fick disobeyed. Captain America didn't. And Captain America, that fucking batshit asshole and his fucking bayonet got promoted while Fick was basically drummed out on his ass. He knows Luz is right. The wrong guys get blamed for shit all the damn time.

"And while he's in prison, his wife died. His kid went into foster care and ran away. Can you fucking  _believe_  that?"

Ray can. That's the problem. He reaches for Luz's pack of cigarettes. "Jesus  _Christ._ "

"No shit." Luz runs both hands through his hair. "And I keep thinking, you know? I was in the 506th Infantry Division, we fucking served with you guys in Ramadi. We did this one jump and the Republican Guard were waiting, shooting RPGs at us. I saw two of my best friends turn to dust right in front of my eyes. Two other guys from Easy Company got their legs blown off by IEDs." 

George flicks the cigarette butt to the ground. "So how come I'm on this side of the door and Mendez is on that side? I mean, what the fuck, Ray?"

"I don't know," Ray says, stumbling for an answer. "Genetics. Environment. The quality of pussy you got versus Mendez."

Luz puts a hand to his forehead. "Christ, Person. Not everything's about pussy." George sighs, reconsiders. "Okay, most things, but not  _this._ "

Ray hands the pack of Lucky Strikes back. "You know why you're on this side of the door, George? Because you got me, brother."

Luz rolls his eyes. "You think I find that comforting?"

Ray elbows George. "I know you do, homes."

"For fuck's sake," Luz groans, "you have  _got_  to knock that shit off. You know the only person who's allowed to say 'homes' besides Mario? Watson, that's who. Unless I'm a fucking British Detective from 1904 or come to work in aluminum siding, shut the fuck up,  _dawg_ ."

"No way, man. You just said 'dawg.'"

"Yeah, I was being ironic. To show you how fucking retarded you sound when you say this shit."

"Yeah, but George, you don't sound retarded. You sounded  _awesome_ ."

"Jesus Christ, come on already. We gotta get back up." Luz moves over to Amanda, jerks his thumb toward the door. "Come on, doll. Time to go."

Ray smiles at Luz's back. With any luck, Luz is too annoyed with Ray to think about which side of the door he's supposed to be on.

* * *

Doctor Reid sits on a folding chair, his back to the television. Amanda and Nathan are on the couch, River's on the floor between their feet, Tate's in the recliner, Alpha's sitting at the card table. Simon's checking rooms for contraband blades or pills; George is measuring out the afternoon medication. Ray sits across from Alpha; he likes to take notes during the daily sessions if he has time. Therapy is just another form of recon. As a Marine you use all the information you can get. Why not do the same as a nurse?

Jake Mendez enters the room slowly. He's wearing a mask of bravado, it's easy to recognize. After all, Ray wore a similar mask himself in Afghanistan and Iraq. Jake's arms are crossed, eyes narrowed. He pulls a chair almost to the reception desk. He's near the circle of patients, but not part of it.

"Thank you for coming, Jake," Reid says with a kind smile.

Jake shrugs. "Like I had a choice."

The other patients are subdued, probably because of Mendez. Everyone's always a little nervous around the new guy. Tate was the last newbie and people still aren't used to him.

Because Jake's new, Reid starts on his recovery speech. It's a recitation of the Tidal Model: recovery is possible, change is inevitable, a person possesses all the resources they need to begin recovery, blah blah, bullshit. The Tidal Model is used in England and Australia, but it's not generally accepted in the United States. Unless you're Doctor Reid.

After his little speech, Reid leans forward, holds a hand out toward Jake. "Why don't you tell us about yourself."

Jake shakes his head. "I got nothin' to say, man."

"How about we start with someone else then. I want everyone to tell Jake a fact about yourself. Anything you want. And then we'll talk about setting goals for ourselves." Reid steeples his fingers together. "River? Why don't you start."

River peers at Jake over the top of Nathan's leg. "I'm broken." She touches her head. "Inside here."

Ray's glad Simon's not around to hear her.

Mendez blinks, then smiles. For just a moment, the mask is gone. He shrugs. "I dunno, your head looks okay to me."

Jake's kindness toward River earns him points. Most people are freaked out by Alpha's size, by Tate's blank eyes, but visitors are  _always_  frightened by River. River, who's about the size of Fruity Rudy's goddamn  _arm_ . They're scared shitless because she's unpredictable, her words sound like nonsense, but they're not. People always fear the unexpected, reject the different. Lousy fuckers.

Mendez rolls his eyes, mask snapping back into place. "Okay, fine. I'm here because I'm fucked up. I got PTSD from the war. Or because they threw me in prison for what I  _didn't_  do. But this?" Jake shrugs, smirks. "This ain't nothin'.

"I saw my buddies blow up. I spent a year in fucking Leavenworth, man. I seen shit you wouldn't fucking believe. Sitting around playing therapy time with you guys?" Jake leans back in the chair. "This is a fuckin' vacation." 

It's a real good line of bullshit. Ray even considers believing it, until he sees the way Jake's left hand is shaking. Mendez catches Ray watching and glares, locks his hands behind his head.

The rest of the group session goes okay. Tate only disrupts it once, when he tries to eat a page ripped out of  _Entertainment Weekly_ . Reid stops him, Alpha wants to know why Tate's so eager to swallow pop culture bullshit--literally. Ray has to fake a cough to keep from laughing out loud.

When the group session's over, Reid meets with the patients individually. Tate's always first. River's last.   
Jake's still in the chair when Tate emerges from Reid's office. Tate looks like he's been crying. He heads straight for the Scrabble box, starts spelling  _fuck_  with the tiles. Tate does that a lot after therapy. Ray's gaze shifts back to Jake. He's watching Nathan, his expression unreadable. That's how it works. Everybody watches everybody else.

Ray drifts over to the reception desk, leans his elbows against the top. Mario flashes him a  _not cool_  look.

"Don't give me that look," Ray says, "I brought you a fuckin' soda." 

"This how it always goes around here?" Mendez asks, not looking at Ray.

"Pretty much. You got breakfast, then free time, lunch, group therapy, one on one, dinner, free time, light's out. Sometimes we go outside, get some fresh air. Oh, and at some point in the afternoon, Mario gets pissy." 

"You'd get pissy too, havin' to look at this asshole's ugly face all day," Mario tells Jake.

Ray bats his eyelashes at Mario. "Oh please. Like you could ever be mad at your dear pal Ray-Ray."

Mario breaks into laugher, winks at Ray. "Okay, I ain't mad, but you're still ugly."

"You can knock it off," Jake says irritably. "I get it. You're a big fucking happy family."

"I wouldn't say we're happy," Ray clarifies, "but we are exceedingly dysfunctional."

"How long I gotta sit here before I get my alone time with Doctor Bullshit?"

Ray steps closer to Jake. "I know it doesn't seem like it, but Doctor Reid's a good guy. Sure, he looks like the result of a one night stand between a thrift store and a fucking library, and he sounds like a do gooder new age hippy. That's because he is a do gooder new agey hippy fuck. But you know what? He  _helps_  people. He's the smartest guy I've ever seen. He's, like, fucking spooky levels of smart, dude. I'm serious. So give him a chance, okay?"

Jake gives a half-hearted nod.

"And one more thing." Ray lowers his voice. "I was over there. I was at the head of the very first wave in 2003. Luz was there in '05. If you don't wanna talk to the doc, you can talk to me, Jake."

"You Marine?"

"Fuck yeah, brah. Bravo, First Recon."

"That's some hot shit, man." Jake blinks hard, takes a deep breath. "I was Marine too, with the 10/13. Pro patria, my brother."

Pro Patria means  _for country_ . What a fucking joke. Jake Mendez served his country with honor and his country served him back all right--a steaming plate of shit. Ray claps Jake on the shoulder. "Jake, I'm just sorry your country fucked you up the ass with a ten-foot strap-on wrapped in concertina wire, my friend. That fucking sucks."

Jake's mouth curves into a bitter smile. "I know, man. They didn't use no fucking lube either."

"Aw shit homes, that has  _got_  to sting," Ray says with a shake of his head. Fuck man, this dude is okay. With any luck, maybe Ray can help Reid get Jake's comms unfucked, get him home, back with his kid.

"Fucking-A, man. Still hurts to sit down." Jake's expression is pained, then he laughs. He studies the ID tag around Ray's neck. "So you're Josh, huh?"

Ray makes a face. "Call me Ray. I haven't been Josh since I was a kid."

"Okay then, Ray it is. And seeing how you're one of the always faithful, you can call me Sarge. Or Wolf."

Sarge? Ray does a mental eye roll. Christ, was  _everyone_  in the military a higher rank that him? "Why Wolf?"

Jake's smile turns feral. "Cuz if you live among wolves, you gotta learn to act like a wolf, man." He lifts his chin. "And I fuckin' learned."


	2. Chapter 2

_I can calculate the motion of heavenly bodies, but not the madness of people._  
~ Isaac Newton  
  
  
The next morning Ray finds Luz pacing near the main entrance. According to the scattered cigarette butts littered around his feet, George has been pacing for a while.  
  
Ray checks his watch. It's still early. Jesus, how long has George been out here?  
  
"What's wrong?" Person asks. Fuck that beat around the bush bullshit. "Is there another newbie coming?" But Reid would have said something if that was the case. So...then what?  
  
It's clear from Luz's face that he and sleep have had a serious falling out. His clothes look like they spent the last year buried in the bottom of a hamper, his hair looks like something slept in it. Which is good, because at least somebody got some sleep. Thank Christ Sixta isn't here because Luz would get a fucking ear full.  
  
George rubs roughly at his face, the palms of both hands come to rest over his eyes.  
  
"George, you're freaking me out and I don't have any fucking Beefaroni," Ray tells him sternly. Fuck, he doesn't even have a bottle of water to dribble down his chin. His mind's blank. He can't even come up with a retarded theory to distract George with. What he wouldn't give for some Ripped Fuel right now. He's coming dangerously close to shouting Tourette's type shit like  _goat fuck_  and  _anal beads_ when he remembers Luz's bad mood from the previous day.  
  
Luz stops pacing, frowns at Ray. "Beefaroni?"  
  
At the same time, Ray declares gallantly: "You're on the right side of the door."  
  
They both stare at each.  
  
Luz clutches at his hair like it's a handle. "What the fuck are you talking about?"  
  
"I don't know," Ray admits. "What are  _you_  talking about?"  
  
"Delia's pregnant," Luz says, cigarette bobbing.  
  
Oh.  _Oh._  "Oh no," Ray whispers. Then he remembers that's the wrong response. He pulls on a crooked smile, straightens it. "I mean...congratulations, buddy!"  
  
"Fuck congratulations, what am I gonna do?" Luz demands, nearly wringing his hands. "I can't be a father. I'm fucked up. I take care of crazy people. And look at me--I'm shorter than you. My kid's gonna be a fucking midget."  
  
"Calm down," Ray says. He plucks Luz's cigarette out of his mouth, snaps it behind a rose bush.   
  
Luz protests loudly. "Hey!"   
  
"Fuck it," Ray says, calmly steering Luz inside the building. "No more smoking if you're gonna be a dad."  
  
"I hate you."  
  
Person pushes Luz into the elevator. "And by hate, you mean love." Ray slides his hands into his pockets. "What does Delia think?"  
  
"She's all happy. Like, going shopping with her mom and buying little pink booties insane Stepford Wife happy. I can't talk to her. Jesus Christ, Ray. I--I'm not ready for this."  
  
Ray puts his hands on George's shoulders, gives him a gentle shake. "Okay, listen. First of all, I've never seen you punch a baby in the face. That's a good sign right there. That's the main good parenting rule: don't punch your kid in the face. Second, you're funny. Kids love funny.  _And_  you're one of these annoying nice guy sensitive types that everyone secretly hates because they're so fucking jealous."  
  
George looks stunned. "Wait. What? You hate me?"  
  
"By hate I mean love. Because I fucking love you, Sergeant Luz. I feel like we've finally reached the stage in our friendship, nay, relationship, where I can be absolutely honest about my feelings. George, did you know that you're my hero?" Ray puts a hand to his chest. "And everything I would like to be?"  
  
George bows his head, closes his eyes. "Oh, fuck."  
  
Ray sings in a warbling high-pitched voice: "I can fly higher than an eagle," he lifts his arms, really singing from the diaphragm now. "'Cause you are the wind beneath my wiiings."  
  
"I am pouring my heart out to you and you repay me with shitty Bette Midler music?" Luz lifts an eyebrow. "Are you trying to tell me  _you_  want to have my baby?"   
  
George thinks he's insulting Ray but George is wrong. Ray is insult proof. Just ask Brad.  
  
"That's  _my_  fucking dream," Ray says with a beatific smile. "Well, to be your baby mamma or a ballerina. I can never make up my mind."  
  
"I really don't know why I bother to tell you anything."  
  
"Because you can't resist my fucking charm. And I'll tell  _you_  something, George. I know you're scared shitless and I don't blame you. But I know you'll be a good dad, if you wanna go that route. I'm serious." Ray pauses. "Which is a fucking rare event, so you better listen. Talk to Delia. Maybe she's freaked out too, maybe she's just hiding her panic behind a wall of pink booties. Just talk to her."  
  
The elevator doors slide open, one of the third shift nurses offers them a cursory wave. They trade places and Ray stops George in front of the coffee machine.  
  
"Even though I won, I'm going to be a fucking amazing friend and buy you coffee today. What do you want? Shit, shit, or shit?"  
  
George shrugs. "I'll take the shit."  
  
"Excellent choice, homes."  
  
Ray glances at Luz to see if he's going to bitch about his vocabulary, but George let's it go. His head's probably too full of baby doom.  
  
"If all else fails, sing her the Bette Midler," Ray suggests as he unlocks the unit door.   
  
"Yeah, if I want her leave my ass," Luz mutters darkly.  
  
The door locks behind them. Simon's at the front desk, shining a pen light into Tommy's face. Tommy's another third shift nurse just coming off duty. Dark rivulets of blood stain the front of Tommy's blue scrub top, red streaks his chin.  
  
Ray stares, aghast. "Holy shit, what happened?"  
  
"Dude, you okay?" Luz asks.  
  
Tommy glares. The skin around his eyes is already starting to bruise. "That fudder brode my nose."   
  
"It's not broken," Simon announces. "Just sprained."  
  
Mario doesn't even pretend to feel bad for Tommy. "This jackass woke the vet during a nightmare," he laughs, pointing at the injured nurse. "How retarded can you get?"  
  
"Pretty fucking retarded," Ray assures him.  
  
"So what happened?" Luz asks.  
  
Tommy sighs heavily. "Mendez was screaming his head off. I went to wade him and got punched in the face. The end." He shoots the other men a sour look. "Thand you for your sympathy."  
  
"You don't get sympathy for a rookie mistake like that. Dude, you  _know_  you gotta grab the foot. You go anywhere near the head or arms, whammo. Hammer time." He hums a few bars of  _U Can't Touch This._  
  
Luz and Mario exchange a glance. "Or worse," Mario says, still chuckling.  
  
"I bet you don't forget again," Ray says. Tom's never been the brightest bulb and this proves it. Oh, to have seen Mendez punch him. He cheers himself up by trying to figure out who's gayer: Better Midler or MC Hammer. It's a toss-up, really.  
  
"If you're done acting like infants," Simon scowls toward Ray and Luz before turning back to Tom, "can you finish the report?"  
  
Tom can and does. Nathan also had nightmares, but nothing as exciting as Jake's. Alpha might be having a reaction to his increased dosage; he has a rash on both arms and his back. River slept under her bed because she was afraid the Red Queen would find her, whoever that is. Amanda woke up with a ear ache. Tate, the noisiest by far during day, is the only one who slept through the night.  
  
Once Tom is gone and the morning's initial paperwork completed, Ray tracks Luz down in an empty room at the end of the hall. George is sitting on the edge of the unused bed, head in his hands.  
  
"Hey."  
  
Luz looks up. "Hey."  
  
"You okay?"  
  
Luz blows out a loud puff of air. "I guess. You're right."  
  
Ray puts a hand to his ear. "What was that? I didn't hear you, you're going to have to repeat that."  
  
Luz ignores Ray's polite request. "I'm gonna talk to Delia tonight."  
  
"That's great, George. Good luck. Hey, could you do me a favor though?"  
  
It's to Luz's credit he only looks mildly suspicious. "What?"  
  
"Can you see if Nathan's okay?"  
  
If it were anyone else, Ray would go. But Nathan seems to really respond to Luz, so George gets the first recon mission of the day.   
  
Nathan's sitting at the far end of the rec room. He's on the floor, back against the wall, more or less hiding behind the fake fern. Luz sinks down next to him, rests his elbows on his knees.  
  
Jake's in the recliner, his gaze fixed to the floor. Ray sits approximately halfway between Sarge and Luz. That we he can hear Sarge if the guy wants to talk, but he can also eavesdrop on Luz's conversation without being too obvious. It's the best of both worlds.  
  
River's curled on one end of the couch, engrossed in  [ _Alice's Adventures in Wonderland_ ](http://www.rosenbachshop.org/shopsite/media/AliceBook.jpg) . Huh. That explains the Red Queen, then. Alpha's at one of the card tables, sculpting something that looks like a dentist chair out of Play-Doh.  
  
Tate's defacing a magazine by scribbling out all the eyes and mouths. He's deep in concentration, tongue tucked between his teeth. "You're Sherman Hemsley," he mutters softly. He turns the page and writes another name. He nods in satisfaction. "You're Mother Theresa." And then, in a whisper: "Bitch."  
  
Luz nudges Nathan's knee with his own. "Hey, kiddo. I hear you had a rough night."  
  
"Not as rough as Jake did."  
  
"You didn't punch anybody, so that's a win right there."  
  
Nathan smiles, then frowns, as if he's annoyed at Luz's attempt to cheer him up.  
  
"You wanna wait for Doctor Reid, or do you feel like talking about it?"  
  
Nathan shrugs, stares hard at his stockinged feet. When he opens his mouth, he aims the words toward his socks, not George.  
  
"I dreamed I killed my mom." Pause. "And that--that I was happy about it." A longer pause. "That I  _liked_  it." Nathan lifts his face to George; he radiates misery.  
  
Ray can see tears in the kid's eyes. Ray would give anything to know how to unfuck that kid's comms.  
  
Luz nods, considering. "You do know that whether you were happy, sad, or threw a fuckin' parade, it's still just a dream, right? You worry about the real stuff, not the shit you dream about, Nate. Your subconscious is just giving you shit. You know why?"  
  
Nate shakes his head, wipes his eyes.  
  
"Because you're working at getting better. And change is fuckin' scary. Sometimes we even try to stop ourselves from changing."  
  
Alpha looks up from his sculpture. "George said 'fucking,'" he calls. He looks over his shoulder at Luz, his expression sly. "I'm gonna tell."  
  
"Sorry, pal," Luz tells Alpha dutifully. Then to Nathan: "Change is so fu--freakin' scary, people stay in lousy marriages and lousy jobs and lousy hospitals just like this to avoid it." Luz lifts an eyebrow and smiles conspiratorially. "Don't tell Doc Reid I said that. People stay in lousy situations 'cause they're used to it. You know that saying, better the devil you know than the one you don't?"  
  
Nathan nods. His lips are chapped, his hair is oily, the brown curls plastered to his head.  
  
Luz lowers his voice. "I say, fuck 'em both. You know that bullshit Doctor Reid keeps peddling? It ain't bullshit, Nate. Change  _is_  inevitable. Recovery  _is_  possible. You're the teacher, Nate. And you're teaching us how to make you better."  
  
River looks up from her book, sniffs in Luz's direction. "I suggest extra credit."  
  
Ray, Nathan, and Luz gape at each other in astonishment. "River, was that a joke?" Ray asks cautiously.  
  
River holds the book in front of her face and recites in a Cockney accent: "In a Wonderland they lie, dreamin' as the days go by, dreamin' as the summers die."  
  
Okay then. So maybe not.  
  
Ray's not the only one who's been listening in on George and Nathan. Sarge is watching too, only he looks like he can't breathe.  
  
"Sarge?"  
  
Mendez doesn't even blink.  
  
"Jake?"  
  
Jake shakes his head, clears his throat. He offers Ray a pained smile. "Fuck man, that Nathan kid reminds me of my son." Mendez closes his eyes, shakes his head again. "Ah, not really. But my kid's got curly hair too. And their eyes...jeez. They've both seen too much shit." Jake laughs shakily. "I guess we've all seen too much shit, huh?"  
  
Ray nods. Jake's last statement is pretty fucking accurate.   
  
"He's a sociopath or whatever, right?"  
  
Ray's tries for polite evasiveness. "He's...got problems."  
  
"He gonna get out of here?"  
  
Person looks back at Nathan. He's still sitting with Luz. George is waving his finger in the air like he's directing an invisible choir. Nathan laughs, and looks years younger. He looks like a little kid. Except for his eyes.  
  
"I hope so," Ray tells Sarge. "He deserves a life. So does River. And Alpha." Ray returns his gaze to Jake. "So do you."  
  
Jake stands abruptly. "Nice talkin' to you," he says gruffly and heads for Tate's table.  
  
Ray blinks. What did he do? Ray's a pro at putting his foot in his mouth, hell, he can fit both feet and an arm in there, but he barely said anything. He was being fucking _encouraging_ . It's not like he brought up pussy or NAMBLA. Now, Ray is annoyed at being annoyed. He's been dissed before. Most of his high school experience fluctuated between being ignored or kidney punched. Tate bitches at him all the time. Previous patients have actually pretended he didn't exist. Shit, maybe they thought he didn't. Brad once told him to be more like Trombley, and as far as Ray's concerned there's no insult in the world worse than  _that_ . So the fact Sarge just gave him the cold shoulder is no big thing.  
  
So why does it feel so fucking big?  
  
Maybe because Ray thought they had a rapport going. He'd been playing the  _we're both vets, ain't that cool_  card like it meant something. Ray puts his hands to his temples, tries to rub the beginning of a headache away. Jesus, he's  _such_  an asshole. Ray's job isn't to make friends with the patients. It's to help them, by listening, monitoring their symptoms, paying attention. And here he is, acting like a weepy little tween who just found out Miley Cirus was a manufactured music whore with all the talent of a tree stump because Jake Mendez walked three feet away. That? Is _weak_ .  
  
Simon walks over, all prissy concentration, and puts a hand to River's forehead. "No fever," he declares. He smiles, leans in to kiss her cheek. "You feel okay,"  
  
River's hand comes up, she pokes Simon's face. "You feel squishy."  
  
"Uh...thank you," Simon says. "I think." He glances at Ray. "What's wrong with you?"  
  
Ray must still have his little girl sadface on, because Simon never asks him shit like that. Person folds his arms, bounces one heel against the floor. "I...think I'm an asshole," he says wonderingly.  
  
Simon snorts. "You just figured that out  _now_ ? I could have told you that months ago."  
  
* * *  
  
Amanda's back from the infirmary within the hour.  
  
"Is your ear any better?" Tate asks, in a surprising show of compassion. Or possibly, regular old curiosity.  
  
Amanda glares. "I guess not, I can still hear you."  
  
Tate's face shutters and he throws his magazine at Amanda. It flutters about two feet and drops to the floor like a wounded bird. "Bitch."  
  
"Cocksucker."  
  
"Twat." Tate makes a noise which could be a laugh. "Ha. You don't even have one."  
  
Amanda smiles coldly. " _Killer._ "  
  
The silence falls like snow, heavy and deep. River puts  _Alice_  over her head like a helmet. She's probably got the right idea.  
  
"Hey man," Jake says quietly, "she don't feel good. Let it go. Be the bigger man here, okay?" He puts a hand on Tate's arm.  
  
Ray wants to tell Jake touching Tate is a poor idea; he knows from experience. But Tate doesn't even acknowledge Mendez.  
  
Tate's breathing hard, eyes teary. "I had to do it," he murmurs to Jake. "My grandpa was a fucking liar. And a cheat. Cheating's against the rules. And Grandma took his side."   
  
"I know," Jake says gently. "I know, man. Everybody's gotta follow the rules. Otherwise everything turns to shit, am I right?"  
  
Now Amanda's glaring at Tate  _and_  Jake. Simon puts an arm around her shoulders. "Why don't you lie down until therapy?"  
  
"Why don't you piss up a rope, asshole?"  
  
Simon considers the suggestion. "If you try to sleep, I promise I'll at least give it a try," he says.  
  
Amanda stares at him, then her face relaxes. "Huh. That was almost funny."  
  
"I've been practicing," Simon tells her, and they disappear down the hall.  
  
Jake is still talking to Tate. "You wanna play a game? Maybe a game of Scrabble?"  
  
Tate brightens instantly. "Okay. I'll set it up." He hesitates, eyes narrowing. "No cheating."  
  
"No cheating," Jake agrees.  
  
Ray exhales slowly, grins at Luz. Crisis averted. Ooh-rah, homes.  
  
Alpha's still working on his Play-Doh creation. He pauses periodically to itch at the mottled rash along his arms.  
  
"You gotta stop that, Alpha. Itching's just gonna make it worse," Ray says. He pages through Alpha's chart. Alpha's morning dose of oral antihistamine appears to be doing both jack and shit. Ray unlocks the drug cabinet, removes a tube of cutivate steroid cream. "Let's see if this works." Ray pulls on a pair of latex gloves and gently applies a thin layer of the medicated cream to Alpha's arms.  
  
Ray explains exactly what he's doing so Alpha doesn't freak out. "Okay, this will help the itching stop, but only if you stop scratching. Now I'm just gonna lift your shirt and check your back."   
  
Only Ray doesn't get to check Alpha's back because Alpha grabs Ray's wrist in a grip that feels like a fucking pair of pliers and shoves Ray backwards. A combination of blind luck and the remnants of Ray's MCMAP training are the only things that keep him on his feet.  
  
Luz is on his way over, hands out, placating. He's holding his pager in one hand, ready to call for help.  
  
"I won't go back in the chair," Alpha says. He raises a fist and smashes the Plah-Doh flat.   
  
"You don't have to go in a chair," Ray says. "You don't even have to sit down."   
  
Alpha starts pacing, one hand to his head. "They did this to me and I'm going to find them. I'm going to find them and then--" he bares his teeth at Ray in a look that makes the hair stand stand up on his neck "--I'll have some fun. Get the scissors." He makes a slashing motion, still smiling. "Snicker-snack go the Vorpal Blades."  
  
The blond man blinks, frowns, shakes his head. He looks at River. "Topher is smarter than you," he tells her. He looks sad about this.  
  
River slowly lowers her book. "Who's Topher?"  
  
Alpha licks his lips, his shoulders slump. He seems to shrink into himself. "He scoops you out and fills you up." Alpha lifts a finger like he's some sort of history professor giving a lecture. "But he doesn't fill you up with you. You're you, but not. _Impostors_ ," Alpha whispers. He touches his face. "This isn't me." He kneads his forehead, eyes widening. "I try to be my best. I always try to be my best." He lowers his hands, gives Ray a defiant look. "Except when I don't."  
  
"You're safe here," Ray says. "Nobody's gonna put you in a chair. Dude, you don't have to be anyone but yourself."  
  
"I don't have a self!" Alpha roars, hands fisted, face red.  
  
Luz presses the pager button.  
  
Alpha shifts again, chuckles. He looks down at his white t-shirt. "But this body is  _not_ all bad." He looks at Ray, gestures to himself. "You have to admit I'm pretty easy on the eyes."  
  
Now Alpha's cycling through personalities. It's fucking creepy. All Ray wants to do is make it stop. Seeing Alpha likes this makes him want to cry. Or put his hand through the fucking wall. Or cry  _while_  putting his hand through the fucking wall. There's nothing worse than being helpless.  
  
"You're  _such_  a narcissist."  
  
Alpha rolls his eyes, talking to himself. "Technically,  _we're_  narcissistic."  
  
"Shut up."  
  
"You shut up."  
  
Alpha scowls, furious. "Why don't you  _both_  shut up!"  
  
River stands in front of Alpha. Ray blinks. What the fuck? She was just on the couch. Ray  _saw_  her. How can anybody move that fast?   
  
"Where's Ben?" River asks Alpha. "I want Ben to come to tea."  
  
Alpha sneers. "Ben's not coming out to play right now. Ben is fucking pathetic. He thought he'd forget. I mean, really? How naive can you be? He thought he'd get a new start." The sly smile returns and Alpha cocks his head back and forth with each phrase. "Clean break. Fresh slate. Too late." Alpha goes still, spreads his hands. "But you know what Ben got?  _Us._ "  
  
Alpha shudders, changes again. "Ben got a clean break all right, a psychotic break. Which, as I'm sure you know from firsthand experience, is a real pain in the ass. And the head. Not exactly what he was hoping for." He purses his lips, regards one of the lamps with a look of disdain. "You should really switch to compact fluorescent lighting. You really do save energy. But not those lame spiral bulbs, you have to use the tubular kind. The ones that sort of look like a little light saber."  
  
Tate's still setting up the Scrabble board like Alpha's not in the middle of a meltdown. Nathan's still on the floor, head down. As if the lack of eye contact makes him invisible. Yeah. Ray tried that in seventh grade. It doesn't fucking work.  
  
Jake's eyebrows are all the way up to his hairline. He doesn't look scared, he just looks...stunned. Join the club, Sarge.  
  
Simon and George are both flanking Ray. But they're trying hard to look casual about it, all  _hey Alpha, sorry you're seriously fucked up_  and not  _you are_ this _close to getting a million cc's of haloperidol up your ass._  
  
Mario's on the phone, most likely trying to reach Doctor Reid.  
  
What Ray really wants, even more than calming Alpha down, is to get River out of the goddamn way. She's standing smack between Ray and Alpha which is not exactly an optimal position since Alpha's gone extra crispy psycho. Talk about danger close.  
  
Alpha's expression goes blank, then he squints at River.  
  
"Caroline?"  
  
The girl steps forward and takes Alpha's hand. "River."  
  
"I'm looking for Caroline," he says, all desperation.  
  
River nods, as if this makes perfect sense. "I'm looking for myself."   
  
Simon reaches for River's other hand, as if they're going to be a happy hand-holding trio, but River smacks her brother away.  
  
Ray and Luz exchange a wide-eyed glance. Sweet mother of fuck, it's not even noon and the day's already a colossal shit hole.  
  
And then, Josh Ray Person witnesses his very first miracle. The miracle isn't the fact River hasn't been punted across the room. It isn't the fact Alpha's steel robot claw didn't snap River's wrist the way it nearly snapped his. The miracle is, in fact, the sight of blond, muscle-bound Alpha following River to the couch like she's Mary and he's her lost little fucking lamb.  
  
The outer door clicks open and two orderlies file in, wary. One of them holds a syringe. Doctor Reid is with them, worry etched across his thin face.  
  
Ray holds up a hand to keep Alpha from getting jumped. It's just possible a ninety pound girl has accomplished something three registered nurses--not to mention a former Recon Marine and Screaming Eagle--couldn't.  
  
River and Alpha sit together like they're best friends. She rests a hand on his knee.  
  
"River," Simon says in a slightly strangled voice, "could you...could you come here, please?"  
  
River's eyebrows come together as she considers her brother's request. "I possess the ability to walk, therefore I  _could_  come there." She leans toward Alpha and a curtain of dark hair obscures her face. "But I don't want to."  
  
Simon flinches like he's just been slapped. He gives Ray a searching look. Ray responds with a look that conveys all the  _I have no idea what the fuck is happening_ he feels. It's a look Ray learned from Captain Schwetje.  
  
Alpha shakes his head back and forth, agitated. He starts to cry, one hand pressed to his mouth. "I just want to get out of here," he sobs. "I want my A-10. I want to--I want to fly away. The sky is so much safer that it is down here." He floats one hand through the air. "I want to be a leaf on the wind." He turns to River, tears on his face. He thumps his chest with one fist. "But I'm--I'm  _this_  instead. I'm an anchor."  
  
"I'm an albatross." River observes Alpha through her hair. "We're both made for ships." She moves closer, whispers into Alpha's ear. Then she kisses one fingertip, touches Alpha's forehead, and flounces away.  
  
She spins once, her long skirt flaring. "I have to pee," she tells Simon, and then she's gone.  
  
* * *  
  
Reid hustles a now docile Alpha out of the room, the orderlies are sent back into whatever box hulking orderlies are stored in.  
  
Luz goes to check on Amanda, Simon makes a beeline for River. Mario sits at his desk, serenely drinking his Diet Coke.  
  
Nathan's watching some old  _Law and Order_  repeat on TV. Jake and Tate are playing Scrabble. Ray returns the steroid cream to the medicine cabinet and practices breathing. He leans his head against the cabinet door, closes his eyes.  _Get it together_  he tells himself.  
  
There's a knot of what feels like razor wire in Ray's stomach. Alpha's hysterics reminded Ray of Captain America's weep fests back in Iraq. And Ray doesn't want to think about Iraq. Because if he does, he's liable to think of dead little girls instead of Brad or Poke. He's liable to think of vaporized hamlets and bodies strewn along the highway like a fucking trail of garbage. Ray's time in that fucking sandbox is nothing but a black tangle of fear and adrenaline and guilt and frustration. It's all tied up with his grandmother's death and Rudy beating the shit out of him, too much caffeine and too little sleep. It's all tied up with Reporter's nervous smile and Trombley's constant crazy. It's a knot Ray has no interest in untying.  
  
Ray sighs, rubs his face, drinks the rest of his cold, shitty coffee. He spends the next ten minutes updating Alpha's chart when Luz finally returns.  
  
"Where have you been?"  
  
"Around," George says vaguely. "Amanda slept through the whole thing. River's taken a Sharpie to her book." He lifts one shoulder in a half shrug. "She says it's broken."  
  
Ray's too tired to think about whether that makes sense or not, so he goes to check on the Scrabble game. He's only been at work for two hours but he already feels exhausted. Is this really only Thursday? He wonders how Sadie is, wishes he could call her.  
  
"How's it going, guys?" Ray asks, slipping into the chair beside Mendez.  
  
The board is half filled with wooden tiles.  
  
"Fine," Sarge says.  
  
Tate picks up a pencil and calculates the score on a notepad. It's one of those crappy little half pencils with no eraser. Tate finishes writing, then bites the end off the pencil with a loud crunch.  
  
"Shit," Ray bleats. "Spit it out, Tate."  
  
Tate shakes his head, crunches wood and lead between his teeth, swallows. He grins at Ray, like he just won the Nobel prize, instead of taking first place in retard.  
  
Ray snatches what's left of the pencil from Tate's hand. "Tate, you got enough problems without lead poisoning. Just play your goddamn game."  
  
"Why you do that, man?" Sarge asks Tate, rearranging his tiles on the plastic stand. "It taste good to you?"  
  
Tate picks at this teeth, smacks his lips. "It tastes like it's your turn," Tate says.   
  
"Okay, okay," Jake says. "Don't sweat it." He lays a few tiles on the board. "There. Happy now?"  
  
Tate stares at the word Jake spelled. He scratches the back of his neck, frowns. He shakes his head, face clouding. "You spelled it wrong. That's not how you spell gentle."  
  
"I know," Sarge says patiently. "That's 'cause I didn't spell gentle. That's  _genteel_ ."  
  
Tate's face goes blank. He stares at the board. "You're lying. That's not a word."  
  
"Yeah it is, man. It means, like, well-bred or refined. Elegant or polite." Sarge grins. "All that shit we ain't."  
  
Tate's still staring at the board. "You're a  _liar_ ," he says. His voice is low, dangerous.  
  
"It's all right," Ray interjects. "He's right, Tate. Genteel is a word."  
  
"Challenge," Tate shouts. "Somebody get me a dictionary. I challenge!" Tate's hand comes down on the board, scattering tiles everywhere. He points at Jake. "You're a liar! You're lying! I'm not stupid!"  
  
Sarge lifts his hands. "I never said you were stupid. Just chill, man."  
  
Tate does not chill. But he does pick up the Scrabble box and throw it at Jake's face. "Liar! Cheat!"  
  
Ray clenches his jaw.  _Fuck._  
  
Mendez shakes his head, smiles a hard little smile. For one second Ray thinks Sarge is just going let the whole thing blow over, he's going to ignore Tate. Then Sarge launches himself at the kid. Tate's chair tips backward and they both fall to the floor.   
  
Mendez has at least fifteen years and fifty pounds on Tate. The kid doesn't have a chance.  
  
Sarge has one knee on Tate's chest, punches the kid hard. "Don't call me a liar, asshole. Why don't you get yourself a fucking Word-a-Day calendar, man."  _Punch._ "Or maybe a thesaurus."  _Punch._  
  
Tate's screaming, lips bloody. "I'm gonna kill you!"  
  
Ray and Luz each take an arm and drag Mendez off. Tate rolls out of the way, gets to his hands and knees. He's crying. "Fuck you! Fuck you, you fucking Mr. Drummond Army fuck!"  
  
Jake lets Ray and Luz steer him toward the front desk. "I'm okay. It's okay. I'm sorry." He raises his hands, palms out, breathing hard. "I'm sorry I did that." Ray lets go. So does Luz. "Technically, I'm a Marine fuck," he murmurs.  
  
"Better now?" Ray asks.  
  
"Yeah. Sorry." Jake nods at Tate. "I'm sorry, man. I didn't mean to lose my shit like that." Jake shakes his hand, rubs his knuckles. "I don't like to be called a liar. Still, that's no excuse, man. Like I said, I'm sorry." Mendez looks at Nathan. "And I'm sorry you had to see that."   
  
Connor and Mendez just caused at least another hour of paper work for Ray, but Jake's apology almost makes it worth it. Okay, not worth it, but a little easier to go down. Especially the apology to Nathan. The fact that Jake even realized he freaked Nathan out, well. That's a good sign. And seriously. Who hasn't thought of punching Tate in the face at one time or another?  
  
"So, what now? Sarge asks Luz. "I get a time out? Gotta go sit in my room, think about what I did?"  
  
Luz nods, trying not to smile. "Something like that. Just hang out in your room until lunch. That's only half an hour or so, then I'll come get you."  
  
Sarge sighs, rubs a hand across his chin. "This is bullshit."  
  
"Christ, Mendez. You were a fucking devil dog," Ray says. "You should be used to bullshit by now."   
  
Sarge huffs a reluctant laugh, heads toward his room.  
  
Ray goes to check on Tate. It's true that Tate's an asshole and Ray doesn't like him much, but Ray's spent the better part of his life being an asshole himself. It's hard not to feel a modicum of sympathy for the kid. Tate's sitting cross-legged on the floor, sucking on a Scrabble tile.  
  
Ray holds out his hand. "Spit it out. I already have a shit load of paperwork, don't make me write about you choking to death on a fucking Scrabble tile, Tate."  
  
Tate spits the tile into Ray's hand. Ray wipes it on his shirt, drops it into a pocket. He'll disinfect the thing later.   
  
"Jake didn't cheat," Ray says softly. "Do you know that?"  
  
"I don't know anything," Tate says, and for once, he doesn't sound angry or facetious or sarcastic He just sounds tired. His eyes are all the way up to maximum sad, and he turns them on Ray.  
  
"Can I have a jump rope?" Tate pulls his sleeves over his fingertips. "Or some candy?" He lifts an eyebrow, hopeful.  
  
"No candy," Ray says. "But maybe I can have some cookies sent up from the cafeteria."  
  
Tate nods. "Yeah. Okay." Slowly, he starts collecting the rest of the tiles. Ray sets the box between them and together they start tossing the wood squares inside.  
  
"Sometimes Rebbecca and Rachel let me jump rope with them," Tate tells Ray, voice distant. "It was fun."  
  
"Tate, you gave up your jump rope privileges when I found you  _literally_  trying to choke one off. I can't let you kill yourself, even if it's in the name of worthy cause."  
  
Tate pouts, leans his head back against the side of the couch.  
  
"This place sucks."  
  
As a rule, Ray tries not to agree with anything Tate says, but when you're right, you're right.  
  
* * *  
  
Friday morning finds Luz waiting inside the hospital lobby. He's holding two cardboard cups of coffee from the cafeteria.  
  
Ray beams. "Holy shit homes, you brought me real coffee!" He looks from the cup to Luz, somewhat suspicious. "What's the occasion?"  
  
"No occasion, Pers. I was just hoping the coffee would keep you too busy to serenade me this morning."  
  
"Dude, that's harsh. I am an  _awesome_  singer. My band opened for Limp Bizkit back in the day."  
  
"Yeah. You must be fucking awesome, what with all those platinum records and the constant touring." Luz makes a show of scratching his head. "Why do you still work here, again?"  
  
Ray punches the elevator button with his middle finger a few dozen times, just in case Luz doesn't get the message. George just laughs, the motherfucker.  
  
Once in the elevator Luz says, "So last night I told Delia I was freaking out about the whole pregnancy thing. She immediately burst into tears and said she was freaked out too."  
  
"So what did you guys decide?"  
  
Luz shrugs, rolls his eyes. "I don't know. She says she doesn't want an abortion. And she don't wanna give the kid up. But  _then_  she says she's not sure she's ready to be a mom. So what does that leave?" George demands. "We have the kid but rent it out on weekends?"  
  
Ray sips his coffee. "Fuck if I know, homes."  
  
George grimaces and does an impressive imitation of Doctor Reid, complete with exaggerated hand movements. "You have to remember change is inevitable—nothing lasts. And ultimately, I, uh, believe people know what's best for them."  
  
Ray laughs, nearly inhales coffee up his nose, sputters. Luz is a gifted mimic. He says he used to get in all kinds of trouble imitating officers when he was in the Army. Now he sticks to mimicking Reid, Simon and Mario. Luz only mimics Ray when he's really pissed off at him...which is slightly more often than Ray would like.   
  
Once, George tricked Simon into thinking a drug rep was the new intern by calling down the corridor in Reid's voice. The poor drug rep didn't know what the fuck was going on. Ray and George hid in Reid's office, dying of laughter, collapsing all over each other. It was fucking  _awesome_ . For some reason, Doctor Reid and Simon didn't find it quite as funny.  
  
"You know what lasts?" Luz asks Ray in his own voice. "Fucking insecurity.  _That_ lasts. And if i knew what was best for Delia and me I'd be able to get a decent night's sleep."  
  
"I already told you what I think."  
  
"Yeah? What?"  
  
Ray almost says  _better you than me_  but decides that particular comment might be better left inside his head than out. "I said you'd make a good dad, George. That's what I said yesterday, that's what I'm saying today. And, fucking spoiler alert, I'm gonna say it tomorrow too."  
  
Ray leans against the elevator wall, closes his eyes. "Thanks, man."  
  
The elevator  _dings_  at their floor, the doors slide open.  
  
"Hey, do you know what River said to Alpha yesterday?" Off George's blank look Ray adds, "when she whispered in his ear after his...episode or whatever. Remember?"  
  
Luz nods. "Yeah. Alpha told me. She said...'someday you'll soar.' Weird, huh?"  
  
"What does that even mean?"  
  
"You got me. She was just bein' nice, you know? Trying to make him think he'll fly again." Luz shoots Ray a sideways glance. "If he ever did."  
  
Ray unlocks the door and they enter the ward. "Hey." Ray sets his coffee on Mario's desk, straightens his ID tag. "Aren't you supposed to have off today? Friday and Saturday are your weekend, right?"  
  
Luz nods. "Yeah, but I thought I'd get some overtime in. God knows we could use the extra money." He cracks a smile. "I don't think renting out babies brings in as much cash as you'd think."  
  
* * *  
  
The shift change reports go fine. The previous night was fairly quiet. Mendez had a flash back shortly after dinner. Mendez tried to hide it, but Justin, the second shift nurse, is good about recognizing the signs. Justin's notes indicate gun shots on an episode of CSI triggered Mendez. Alpha had a half hour crying jag, and River performed an impromptu ballet recital while Simon, Amanda, and Jake cheered her on.   
  
All things considered, not a bad night.  
  
Ray sits at a table by himself this afternoon, updating charts. He spends a long time on Jake's. Currently, Mendez is on sertraline for anxiety and PTSD-related symptoms, clonidine for the physical symptoms, and venlafaxine for depression. There are photocopies of notes from Jake's hospital records in Germany and his time in Leavenworth. Jesus Christ, the guy took massive shrapnel to the back during the first battle of Fallujah. In the second battle he took shrapnel to the leg that sliced right through his femur. He's had seven reconstructive surgeries.   
  
Ray swallows, closes the file. Sometimes he forgets just how lucky they were during OIF. Pappy came away with a permanent limp, Q-Tip with a screwby scar. Ray thinks of the hole in Rudy's windshield, how the bullet came a fucking hair's breadth from destroying more than glass.  
  
Mendez is in the recliner again. He's Mister Casual, legs out, chin resting on one palm. Jake's clearly going for boredom but Ray can tell it's an act. Beads of sweat dot Jake's forehead, his face is flushed.  
  
Amanda, on the other hand, is not faking boredom. She stretches, yawns, puts her head down on the table like a little kid.  
  
Doctor Reid's dressed in a black long-sleeved shirt, a purple vest, gray slacks and red Chucks. A pocket watch chain hangs from a vest pocket. He's wearing his horn-rimmed glasses today, and his light brown, shoulder length hair is tucked behind his ears. It's also unwashed. He looks like part Norman Rockwell painting, part homeless man.  
  
Reid smiles at Amanda, clasps his hands. "Amanda? I was wondering if we might see Adam today?"  
  
Amanda speaks into the table top. Her voice is muffled. "No."  
  
Amanda's wearing her long brown wig this afternoon, her fingernails are short but painted pale pink. Other than the hair and nails, she's dressed like Adam. She's wearing jeans and a baggy sweatshirt.  
  
"Are you afraid to see him?"  
  
Amanda lifts her head, glares.  
  
"Are you still protecting him, Amanda, or are you hiding him?" Reid lifts his eyebrows, unclasps his hands. They flutter against his knees like trapped birds.  
  
"I'm not afraid of anything," Amanda says coldly.  
  
Reid pushes his glasses up on his nose. "Really? So you're not afraid of seeing him? You're not afraid what he'll say if you let him out?"  
  
"I  _said_  I'm not afraid."  
  
"Not even of losing him?"  
  
Amanda doesn't answer.   
  
Reid keeps his voice light, gentle. "What do you think Adam would say if he knew what you did?"  
  
Amanda doesn't hesitate with her answer, but she shifts in the chair. "He'd say thank you."  
  
"You told me once I'd have to wait a long time for you to do the right thing. Do you remember?"  
  
"I remember." Amanda's lip curls. "Tired of waiting yet?"  
  
Doctor Reid smiles, completely calm. "Not at all. I'm a pretty patient guy." He regards the rest of the group. "Why don't we keep talking about fear a little bit. Is there anything in particular any of you are afraid of?"  
  
Everybody looks at the floor, at the wall, at the ceiling. Anywhere but at Reid.  
  
Finally Nathan locks his fingers together, exhales. "I'm--I'm afraid to see my mother." He offers this admission to the blank television screen, not Doctor Reid.  
  
"Are you talking about tomorrow?"  
  
Nathan nods. His eyes look bruised. "She's afraid of me." Nathan runs a finger over the pale scars along one arm. "She looks at me differently." He presses his lips into a thin line, rocks forward in his chair. "I'm glad my dad is dead so he can't see me like this. So he doesn't know what I am."  
  
"I understand your fear, Nathan. But I'm going to respectfully disagree with you. I think your father would be proud of you. You came to me because you recognized you needed help. You knew yourself well enough to know something was wrong. That takes an incredible amount of bravery. Of strength. If your father were alive he would know exactly what you are: an intelligent, brave young man who's trying to do the right thing." Reid flashes a look at Amanda. "And doing the right thing is easier said than done.  
  
"As for your mother, I think you're forgetting something, Nathan. She's afraid of your desires, yes. But she isn't afraid of  _you_ . She loves you, Nathan. If she didn't, I guarantee she wouldn't visit you every week. She wouldn't be calling me to check on you, to find out how you're feeling."  
  
Nathan looks at Reid. "She...she does that?"  
  
Reid nods solemnly. "She does. If she were afraid of you, do you think she'd do that?"  
  
"I don't know," Nathan mumbles.  
  
"Try not to worry about tomorrow," Doctor Reid says. "I'll be here the whole time, okay? I promise."  
  
Nathan tries to smile. "Okay."  
  
Reid looks from Alpha, to Tate, to Sarge, to River.   
  
"What about you, River? Is there something you'd like to talk about?"  
  
River stares at Reid. "I can't explain myself, I'm afraid, sir, because I'm not myself you see."  
  
Reid sits for a moment, thoughtful. He nods like River makes sense and isn't speaking complete gibberish. Then he smiles and doffs an invisible hat. "Begin at the beginning," Reid tells her, "and go on till you come to the end. Then stop."  
  
River smiles. It's an honest smile, without fear or anxiety, and in that moment she's beautiful. She claps her hands together, pleased. "You've read Alice!"   
  
"I have," Reid says.   
  
Doctor Reid has an eidetic memory. So does River. Ray has a sudden vision of River and the doc reciting long boring books to each other during cognitive therapy sessions.  
  
River's smile fades. She squints at the floor, points at an nonspecific patch of carpet. "Then you know. I've fallen down the rabbit hole." She shakes her head, hair flying. "And I can't get out."  
  
Reid holds his hands out in a beseeching gesture. "We'll keep working together, River. I'll help you find a way out. We'll all help you."  
  
Tate picks at his fingernails. "I won't."  
  
" _Tate_ ." Reid's voice holds a warning.  
  
Tate scowls, but stays silent.  
  
"River, are your parents coming this weekend?"  
  
River shakes her head again. Her face is hidden. "I don't want them to."  
  
Doctor Reid keeps his voice soft. "Why not?"  
  
River lifts her hands to her face. "They put memories in my head. They came in the night, in my room, two by two." River pushes dark hair roughly from her face. Her forehead creases in concentration. "Two by two," she says, "hands of blue."  
  
An eyebrow lifts behind Reid's glasses. "Hands of blue?"  
  
"They wore gloves so they wouldn't leave fingerprints on my brain." River taps one temple. "No proof." She stands, knocks on the top of her head like it's a door. "They took out the good parts. The right parts."  
  
"No," Reid says quickly. "River, you still have all the parts you're supposed to have. All the--the good parts are still there."  
  
"That's not what the voices say. They tell me I'm broken. I'm bad." She cocks her head to one side. "Badly broken."  
  
Reid stands, his face stricken. "Listen to  _my_  voice, River. We've talked about this, remember?"  
  
"Hey, man," Jake says. "I don't think you're broken."  
  
River ignores them both, walks to the table with the tray of empty medicine cups. She lifts a cup. "This says drink me." She lifts another. "This says eat me." She drops both paper cups to the floor. "And I eat and I drink but I always stay the same." She raises her voice, trembling. "I want to get smaller, I want to shrink and shrink until _poof!_  All gone!"  
  
River presses her hands to her head, stumbles against the wall. "Oh, how I wish I could shut up like a telescope!" Her voice wavers, vibrates like a wire. "I think I could, if I only knew how to begin."  
  
"River," Doctor Reid says. He moves toward her slowly, palms up.  
  
Amanda's watching. She no longer looks bored.  
  
River whispers to herself, but Ray can hear each word. "Ever drifting down the stream, lingering in the golden gleam, life--what is it but a dream?" River looks from face to face, eyes wide and brimming with tears. "Wake up!" she screams. "We have to wake up!"  
  
River runs to Sarge, grabs at his arm. "Wake up!" She runs to Alpha, then Amanda. "Wake up!  _Wake up!_ "  
  
Simon comes up behind his sister. "River," he says. "River, it's okay."  
  
River laughs, side-steps his reach. "We're all mad here, we're all mad here," she sing-songs. She drops to her knees in front of Nathan. He looks terrified. "You can cut me open, see what's inside, what makes me tick. I'm full of clocks, but out of time. You can kill me, I don't mind." She looks over her shoulder at Ray, at Jake, at an ashen-faced George. "Or maybe the toy soldiers have toy guns. Wind them up, watch them go. Put a bullet in my brain pan-- _squish_ "  
  
Nathan scrambles out of the chair and away from her. He's shaking almost as badly as River and moves behind Reid. Doctor Reid puts an arm around Nate and makes soothing noises.  _It's okay, it's okay._  
  
Simon's got River beneath the arms, he drags her to her feet.  
  
"I just need to pull out the broken pieces," River shouts. "Replace them with string and cloth and straw. Build a bird's nest in my head for the albatross." She starts to cry, pushes at Simon, tries to hit her head on the wall. "Make it stop! Make it stop!"  
  
Simon struggles with her and she goes limp, slides out of Simon's grip. She curls herself into a ball on the floor. "I'm falling," she cries. "I can't stop, where's the rabbit?"  
  
Ray pushes himself to his feet. Holy fucking Christ on a crutch, he can't watch any more of this. He's got to help ( _stop_ ) her. Ray moves forward to help Simon pick River up, but the look on Simon's face stops him cold.  
  
"Please God, make me a stone," River pleads, her voice shattering into wet syllables.  
  
Alpha's pacing back and forth, clearly upset. "I'm a leaf on the wind, watch how I soar," he says. He repeats it, like a mantra. "Watch how I soar, how I soar."  
  
Jake's on his feet too. He looks from Reid to Simon. "Can I help, man?"  
  
But Luz is already on his knees beside River, syringe in hand. "It's okay, doll," Luz whispers, brushes the hair from River's face. "It's gonna be okay."  
  
River's still crying when Simon picks her up and carries her out of the room. Doctor Reid pats Nathan's shoulder once, twice, then follows.  
  
* * *  
  
When Reid returns to finish the group therapy session--minus River--everyone's in a shitty mood. At least Ray is. And Simon. Simon has the stunned, chalky look of someone who's just survived a major disaster, but doesn't know why.  
  
You're not supposed to get attached to the patients, but everyone does. Ray uses crude humor, insults, and a steady stream of bullshit to distance himself, but it doesn't work very well. At home, Sadie does the same thing. She's always telling him about Brain Cancer Girl or Lymphoma Boy. Ray tells her about Schizo Girl and Sergeant Wolf. Ray has names for all the patients: Nathan is Puppy Eyes, Tate is Jump Rope Incident, Amanda is Queen Bitch, and Alpha is...well, Ray still calls him Alpha. It's shitty and mean, but Ray's always been a thousand miles shy of politically correct.  
  
Friday night Ray lies awake thinking about River. He thinks about Alice in Wonderland and rabbit holes. He thinks about the look on Nathan's face when River asked him to kill her, the look on Simon's. Simon was still working when Ray left. He's probably still there, obsessively going over River's chart, desperate to find the right combination of drugs to fix his sister.  
  
Last month Simon and Doctor Reid thought clozapine was the answer. River was calmer, more lucid, more herself. Until the clozapine caused agranulocytosis, a loss of white blood cells and River got pneumonia. And Simon's insurance refused to pay for the constant blood tests to check River's white blood cell level. River cried for almost an hour when Simon gave her the news. Simon cried with her. Now River's on risperidone, but judging from this afternoon, it's not working very well.  
  
Ray rolls over, punches his pillow back into shape. He thinks about Luz and Delia having a baby. Of River's parents, separated from their daughter by an illness so dark and bottomless it makes the Grand Canyon look like a fucking pothole. Here are two people who love their daughter, and a daughter who can no longer accept, understand, or even believe in their love.  
  
Ray doesn't believe in God. He doesn't pray. But now, staring at the ceiling, he hopes fervently upward that George and Delia Luz never have to face what Mr. and Mrs. Tam do. It's funny how so many mothers worry about their children going off to war. Ray's mother certainly did. They worry their kid will be killed or go missing in action. Only nobody thinks about all the men and women who are missing in action right here. The men and women whose bodies remain while their minds fight a completely different kind of war.  
  
Ray runs a hand through his hair.  _Fuck._  He has got to stop thinking about this shit.  
  
Sadie reaches for Ray's hand. "What's wrong?"  
  
Ray sighs. "I can't sleep." He pulls his wife closer, smells her apple-scented hair. Jesus, he loves her. His throat feels too small, too hot. It feels like he's trying to swallow a fucking grenade. "I don't ever want kids," he tells her. "You know that right?" He pauses, listens to the darkness. "Are you...are you okay with that?"  
  
His heart thuds like he's in the middle of an RPG attack. Christ, he's such a fucking pussy. But the thought of losing Sadie fills him with what can only be described as abject terror. Sadie's already said she doesn't care about kids, but shit, lots of women say that. Then their biological clocks go off, and all of a sudden your wife's talking about organic baby food and ugly-ass minivans.  
  
He can feel Sadie smile into his arm. "Kid's puke too much," she says matter-of-factly. "They cry, and they want you to buy them shit. Plus, they always talk when you're trying to watch TV."  
  
"Sadie, I'm serious," Ray says. "Because if she's going to leave him over this he has to know now, so he can reserve a bed for himself at Silver Balls. Or reenlist and find himself a nice IED back in Iraq.  
  
Sadie opens her eyes, raises her head so Ray can see her face. "All I need is you," she says simply. "I have my kids at the hospital. You have your kids at the hospital." She puts a hand to his face. "That's enough, Ray.  _We're_  enough."  
  
Ray nods, sniffs, and suddenly tears are streaming down his face. He hates crying because it always makes him feel weak, makes him feel like fifteen year-old Josh Ray Person getting the living fuck beat out of him at school.  
  
But Sadie just kisses his forehead, then his cheek, then his lips. And when she presses against him, Ray's brain is no longer focused on kids, high school, or crying like a bitch.


	3. Chapter 3

_A little madness in the Spring  
Is wholesome even for the King._   
~ Emily Dickinson

 

Weekends are always depressing. Not Ray's scheduled weekends, but the real deal. Saturday especially. Today's even worse because Luz has off. This means Ray's stuck with Simon and Justin, a nurse from second shift. Justin's nice and everything, but he's no George. Ray stirs his coffee morosely and wonders when he started sounding so incredibly extra special short bus rainbow-flag gay for Luz. 

Person can't tell what's more depressing: the patients who get visitors or the ones who don't. Nathan's mom always visits. She spends most of her time trying not cry, or sitting with an expression that looks like she's being stuck in the neck with a safety pin. The units on the lower floors can have visitors every day, but that's not how it works up here. So visiting day is the closest thing Ray's patients gets to a special occasion. There's juice and cookies and plenty of awkward conversation. 

Ray hates Saturdays. 

Usually he and Luz run around making sure nobody gets punched or threatened with a pen to the throat. Today Justin helps. Simon doesn't, but that's because his mother is here and he needs to play referee between her and River. 

Reid drifts from table to table, answering questions, making small talk, or playing Poker with the patients who don't have visitors. Reid's the only person Tate never accuses of cheating. 

Alpha never gets visitors. Today is no exception. He's dragged a chair to the corner of the room and watches everyone else, arms folded, face sullen. 

Amanda hates visiting day. She spends the time in her room reading or sleeping. 

River's sitting on the floor, busy with a plastic tea set Simon brought her. It's decorated with an Alice in Wonderland motif, each handle is in the shape of a little red heart. River pointedly ignores her mother. 

Ray's surprised to see Sarge has a visitor. A youngish clean cut guy named Mike. Sarge and Mike do a one-armed secret handshake man hug that screams  _semper gay_ , but whatever. Mike seems a little flinchy, but that doesn't mean much. A lot of people are nervous around crazies. 

River makes an elaborate show of pouring invisible tea. She hands the cups out one at a time, shyly, smiling behind her hair. She starts with Simon. "You're the White Rabbit," she says, "because I always follow you." 

Simon smiles, kisses the top of her head. "No River, I follow  _you._  And I always will." 

River makes a face and rubs at her hair, apparently trying to rid herself of Simon's germs. Ray doesn't blame her. "That's not how the story goes," she tells him with an eye roll Ray can hear clear across the room. 

Next, River goes to Alpha. She holds out a cup. "You're the Mad Hatter." 

He takes it carefully, extending his pinky finger like a Victorian matron. "I'm the Maddest Hatter," Alpha corrects her. 

River comes up behind Sarge's friend and slides a tea cup along the edge of the table until it rests in front him. 

Mike looks startled, but smiles at her. He sips at the pretend tea. "Thank you. What's your name?" 

Sarge grins. "This is River, Mikey. River, this is my boy Mike." He gestures to Mike's cup. "Hey, don't I get any tea?" 

"You're not in the book," River says with a look that indicates Mendez is suffering from severe brain damage. 

Mendez scoffs, incredulous. "And Mikey is?" 

River nods. "He's the dormouse." 

Sarge blinks, then laughs. He claps Mike on the back. "Look at that, man, she knows you." Jake ruffles Mike's hair. "You never met a quieter guy. He'll just sit there drawing for hours, quiet as a mouse." Sarge taps his head. "But he's always paying attention." Mike looks pleased. 

Ray's faxing the dinner order down to the cafeteria when River hands him one of her heart-handled cups. "You're the Cheshire Cat," she announces. Ray takes the cup, feeling absurdly happy to be included. Christ. He's got a dick and he's  _still_  more of a girl than Sadie. 

"How come I'm the Cheshire Cat?" Ray asks, curious. 

"Because I can still see your smile even when you're not here," she says, and goes back to pour more imaginary tea. 

Ray stares at the back of her head, stunned. He's not sure he's ever received a better compliment. Any touchy-feely with the patients is strictly no-go, but right now Ray wishes he could give River a hug. 

"Thank you," Ray calls. 

River doesn't even bother turn around. "No mushy stuff or it's off with your head." 

Ray laughs. Man, that chick is something else. As much as he wants River to get better, to move on, to be free of her inner demons, there's a selfish part of him that hopes she sticks around for a long ass time. Of course, that means Simon has to stick around too. He may have to rethink that. 

"River, do you want to give Mom a cup of tea?" Simon asks in a  _please do this for me_ voice. 

River answers by inching closer to Sarge and his friend, and away from Simon and her mother. She kneels and offers Sarge a cup after all. "I changed my mind. You can be the Big Bad Wolf." 

Jake's eyebrows shoot up. He grins, amused. "I'm visiting Wonderland, huh?" 

"You huff and puff," she says slowly, "but I don't think you want to blow anything down." She looks thoughtful, then smiles like she just solved a difficult problem. "You're a sheep in wolf's clothing." 

Jake's grin falls off and he sets the cup on the table with an audible  _click_. "Thanks for the tea," he says, "but you should really go hang out with your brother and Mom." He twists in the chair, turning his back on River. 

Ray makes another circuit of the room, making sure everybody's okay. Or as close to okay as it gets. Sarge still has his back to the room, his expression dark. 

Mike's sketching what looks like a mosque and a weeping woman, hands raised in supplication. A bubble of Arabic words floats above her head. It's pretty good drawing. Not exactly uplifting, though. 

"You guys okay?" Rays asks. 

"Never better," Sarge snaps. 

The next hour drags by. Mike finishes the mosque picture, starts a new one of River at a long table, dressed as Alice. The Mad Hatter and White Rabbit sit beside her, in the midst of a raucous tea party. Beneath the table, a mouse sketches on a pad of paper. 

River beams at the picture. Mike tears the sheet off, gives it to her, just as shy as River was earlier. She holds it carefully, reverently, like stained glass. 

"The rule is, jam tomorrow and jam yesterday--but never jam today," she says softly, still staring at the sketch. 

Jake rubs one hand over the beginning of a beard. He look solemn, but no longer angry. "That's a good rule, man." 

Mike leans close to River and Ray can just make out what he says. "Watch out for the Creepy Me's. They're always trying to get you." 

River offers her own warning. "Watch out for the two by two, hands of blue." 

Mike flips his notebook shut. "I will." 

Ray leans against Mario's desk, idley tapping his plastic tea cup against one palm. What the fuck is a "creepy me?" This dude sounds like he could benefit from a stay at Silver Balls himself. Now wonder he looked all flinchy. 

Mike leaves first, then River's mother. As soon as Mario unlocks the door, River puts on a smile that's so fake it looks like a mask. She calls to her mother in a plastic voice: "Thanks for coming!" 

Simon stares at his sister, appalled. 

She stares back. " _What?_ " 

* * * 

Luz is back to work on Sunday, thank Christ. Ray fills in his friend on Saturday's visitors. 

"Huh," Luz says. "Do you think Mike served with Mendez?" 

"Oh yeah. He was drawing an Iraqi mosque. And he knows Arabic. Plus, the way he looked at Mendez, you could tell." 

"What's that mean?" 

"He's got that look. You know, like Sarge is his brother, father, and best friend all rolled into one. Like good ol' Mikey would do anything for Mendez. Incidentally," Ray says with a smirk, "that's the way you'd have looked at me if you'd been in Bravo Company." 

"No dice," Luz says scornfully. "I'd have thought you were retarded. I haven't forgotten your 'war is the motherfucking answer, unless it's pussy' theory, Ray." Luz sighs deeply. "And believe me, I've tried." 

"Hey," Ray grumps. "It's a valid theory." He consoles himself with the fact Luz totally considers him a brother, father, best friend and fucking cherished soul mate now. As he should. Ray wonders if that's how he looked at Brad. Surely not. Although he probably came pretty close when Brad pulled out that magnificent copy of  _Juggs._ Oh,  _Jasmine._  

Ray wonders if Luz was lucky to have a sergeant as frosty as Brad. "What about you? You have a good sergeant?" 

Luz smiles, smug. "Dude, I was a Tech Sergeant." 

Oh yeah. Well, fuck. 

Luckily, Luz doesn't spent twenty minutes rubbing in his superiority. "All the NCOs were good, but it was our captain who kicked ass. Man, I woulda followed Captain Winters into hell." Luz's smile goes crooked. "Come to think of it, I did." 

They finish changing the linen on Alpha's bed and move into the Nathan's room. Changing bed sheets is a one person job, but Ray decided it was too boring to do alone. He and George do it together, which means Luz and Ray take turns standing around blabbing while the other actually does the work. It's a pretty good system in Ray's opinion. 

"The two of you don't both need to be in here," Simon says from the doorway. "No wonder it takes you so damn long. I already have River's, Amanda's and Jake's rooms done." 

Luz pulls a sheet of Nathan's bed. "We were hoping you'd have Nathan's done too. Looks like you're not as fast as you think, Tam." 

Simon's lips compress into an angry line and he withdraws back into the hall. 

"That guy makes it too fuckin' easy," Luz says. 

Once the rooms are clean, Ray hands out morning meds. Everybody files over, stands in line. Ray's a little nervous when it's River's turn, but she seems okay with her size today, she swallows the medication without protest. Ray peers into each empty open mouth, satisfied the pills have been swallowed. 

A cafeteria worker unlocks the door, wheels in a cart. George pushes it into the kitchen, sets out trays of scrambled eggs and toast, or bowls of cereal. Actually, it's _bowl_  of cereal. Tate's the only one who consistently chooses Cheerios over eggs. 

River drifts into the kitchen area, sits at the table. Ray winks at her. She winks back, solemn. 

"If I had a world of my own, everything would be nonsense. Nothing would be what it is, because everything would be what it isn't. And contrary wise, what is, it wouldn't be. And what it wouldn't be, it would. You see?” 

Luz exhales loudly. "Not really, but you are looking especially pretty this morning." 

River puts a hand over her mouth but Ray can still see the edges of her smile. 

Tate, Alpha and Nathan arrive to together. Amanda comes in last. Everyone sits. 

Amanda glances around. "Where's Marine guy?" 

It's a good question. Ray should know the answer. 

"Tom's shift report said everybody was up," Luz says. 

"No shit," Ray says. "We'd have noticed if he was still asleep when we changed the fucking sheets." He took his meds along with everyone else, so...maybe he's in the bathroom. "I'll go get him." 

River pulls at Ray's sleeve as he passes. "Don't let the wolf fall asleep." 

Ray yanks free, ignoring her. He casts a quick glance into the day room. It's empty. He heads for Sarge's room. "Sarge? Jake?" 

Sarge's room is neat. Military neat. Not that he's allowed many possessions, but his books are stacked neatly on the dresser, spare sweatpants, t-shirt and sweatshirt are folded on the chair. Hangers aren't allowed. The bathroom door is closed. 

Normally, this wouldn't be a big deal; the doors aren't equipped with locks. But there's something jammed over the top of the door frame. A long strip of gray cloth. Almost like a scarf. Ray stares at it stupidly. Not a scarf, the leg of a pair of sweatpants. 

Ray instantly breaks into a cold sweat. He bangs on the door. "Jake!" 

He tries the knob, pushes. The door is jammed by the sweatpants. But when Ray shoves at the door, something bangs against the other side. Something heavy. 

Oh  _shit_. 

Ray shoves again, and he's praying he'll find Mendez taking a dump. Maybe he's in the middle of jacking off. He'd much prefer Mendez humiliated than hurt. 

Ray yells for Luz. He shoves again and this time the door budges. Slowly. The release of friction makes the fabric slip from over the door and there's a loud, meaty thud. Adrenaline makes Ray move too fast and too slow. Sweat pours down his face.

Jake's on the floor of the bathroom, the other leg of his sweatpants knotted around his neck. Belts, scarves and shoelaces aren't allowed but this fucker wedged his fucking sweatpants over the top of a door and forced it shut in an attempt to hang himself. That motherfucking  _fucker._  

This time Person yells for Simon because he's the ex doctor. "Tam! Doc!" 

Jake's lips are tinted blue, his face is wax. He looks fucking dead. Ray fumbles with the knot, feels for Jake's pulse. It's there, but weak. It stutters beneath his fingertips. Okay, Jake couldn't have been hanging here long. He's gonna be okay. He is. 

What the fuck is taking so long? "Doc Bryan! Corpsman!" 

At the very least Brad should get his ass over here and-- 

"Oh fuck," Luz says. He's standing in the doorway, just behind Ray. 

"Where's Simon?" Ray snaps. He can't get the fucking knot untied. Then: "I need Doc Bryan." 

"Well you're stuck with me," George says calmly. "EMTs are on their way up. They'll take Mendez downstairs to emergency care or over to Jackson General if he--if necessary." 

A band of angry red circles Jake's neck. His head rolls, his eyelids flutter. 

He opens his eyes, takes in Ray. Closes them again. 

"Shit, man. You shoulda let me die." His voice is frayed, broken. 

Ray shakes his head. "No fucking way." 

Mendez opens his eyes again, stares up at Ray dully. "You tell me this, man. Who is it you want me to live for? Me or you? Cuz fuck it, man, I've had it with this place." Jake turns his head, coughs harshly. "You think River's the only one falling down some dark hole? Think again, man." 

* * * 

Ray feels sick, angry, frustrated for the rest of the day. Jake's suicide attempt sends River into hysterics. Nathan goes silent. Tate starts pulling out his eyelashes. He arranges a little smiley face of lashes on the edge of the table. Alpha sits in the corner ignoring the commotion, busy playing with his plastic dinosaurs. Amanda paces around the rec room, muttering angrily. Doctor Reid spends the entire afternoon soothing, calming, picking up the pieces. Ray knows as soon as he's done here, Reid will do the exact same thing with Sarge. 

"Why the hell did he do that?" Amanda asks Ray. "He's the only one of us who has a chance to get out of here this decade, and he tries to kill himself?" 

Ray doesn't know how to answer her question. 

He's still angry when he gets home. Sadie greets him at the door. When she sees the look on his face, her smile falters. 

"What's wrong?" 

Ray considers lying, but ignores the impulse. He's a shitty liar and besides, he and Sadie always tell each other the truth. 

Ray stalks around the kitchen, unsure what to do with his hands. He wants a cigarette but Sadie's pissy about smoking in the house. He wants to stop seeing Jake's empty eyes, stop hearing his ragged voice. 

"One of the patients tried to kill himself today," he says. "I found him." 

Sadie tries to put a hand on Ray's arm, but he walks away. He can't stand still. He doesn't want to be touched. 

"He tried to hang himself with his goddamn  _sweatpants_. What are we supposed to do? Take away his fucking clothes?" 

"I'm sorry," Sadie says softly. 

Ray keeps walking, from the kitchen counter, to the stove, and back. "I mean, Sarge was only up there for a few seconds. Reid says he'll be okay, there's no permanent damage." Ray laughs bitterly. "Whatever the fuck that means." 

The words pour out of him. He hadn't meant to tell Sadie all this shit, but he can't seem to stop. 

"Chrsit, he went through so much shit over there, Sadie. You would not believe how badly the military fucked him over. It makes me fucking  _ashamed_. The officers he dealt with make Encino Man look like fucking Einstein." 

Ray puts his hands to his head. "Fuck me. I don't know what to do." 

Sadie touches his arm again. This time he lets her. 

"Go upstairs. Take a shower. I'll make dinner, okay?" 

Ray's not hungry, but he doesn't bother telling his wife. 

He goes upstairs, strips, stands under scalding water until it turns cold. He stands beneath the spray until he's shivering. When he gets out, he pulls on a pair of jeans and does push ups until his arms ache. Until his rage is as tired and spent as the rest of him. 

He lowers himself to the floor, rolls onto his back. Most days he likes his job, he really does. Not today. He stares up at the ceiling. A thin crack snakes it's way through the plaster. Sadie calls it the Mason-Dixon line. Ray wonders where he'd be right now if he'd been court-martialed for some bogus shit instead of Mendez. Or if he'd never met Sadie. Or worse, if she died. Maybe he'd be pissed to find himself looking up at a bathroom ceiling too. 

Ray sighs heavily, whispers  _fuck._  

Sadie calls from the bottom of the steps. "Hey babe. Dinner's ready. You hungry?" 

He's not. But he'll go downstairs. Keep her company while she eats. Listen to her talk about her day. It's got to be better than his. ( _Than Jake's._ ) 

Ray takes the stairs two at a time, barefoot, his dark hair still damp. He stops short when he reenters the kitchen. 

Sadie has the table all set up for some kind of fancy gay dinner. She's got candles lit, cloth napkins, extra forks, the whole thing. He stares at it, heart sinking. If she thinks this is going to cheer him up, she is so. Very. Wrong. Sadie's never acted this retarded before, but there's a first time for everything. 

And then he notices what's sitting on each plate. A can of Chef Boyardee Beefaroni. 

His mouth opens. Closes. Ray can feel the smile form on his face. "You--what?" he says, sounding suspiciously retarded himself. Then he says, almost dreamily, "Chef Boyardee." 

"You looked pretty down," Sadie tells him, wrapping an arm around him. She leans her head against his shoulder. "I didn't know what else to do. I hope you're not mad." 

He stares down at the top of her head. Women are fucking enigmas wrapped in a mystery wrapped in a whole lot of  _what the fuck are you talking about?_  "Why would I be mad?" 

This might be the most awesome thing Sadie's ever done. And that's not even counting the time she bought the bikini made out of candy beads. 

"Because this--" she gestures to the nearest can "--belongs to you and Brad, not you and me." 

In a way, Sadie's right. This is Ray's best memory from Iraq. Sharing Beefaroni with the guys. Making Walt laugh. Sitting with his brothers in the sunshine, giving the Reporter shit about his girlfriend's picture. The lovely  _Jasmine._  When he'd told Sadie that story, he never thought she'd remember it, much less give it back to him. Now the memory belongs to all of them, binds both his families together. How in the holy fuck did he get so lucky? 

He asks her outright. 

Sadie thinks about it while she reaches for the can opener. "You make me laugh," she says finally. "Plus," she lifts an eyebrow, mischievous, "you're a pretty good lay."

* * * 

The phone rings after dinner. 

Ray answers it, thinking it's his mom. Or Luz with more whiny bullshit about being a dad. 

Instead, Brad Colbert's laconic voice fills Ray's ear. "Feeling sorry for yourself, Ray?" 

Ray nearly drops the phone. It's been a good three months since he's heard from his motherfucking Christ killer ex-Sergeant. 

"If you want to feel sorry for someone, you should feel sorry for me. My goddamn RTO left me and I've had a green boot fuck replacement driving me around my last two tours. He doesn't even dip for Christ's sake. And worse, he's a motherfucking Jew and wants to spend endless hours bonding over our rich, cultural heritage." 

"Shut the fuck up," Ray grins. "Admit it, you loved breaking him in. I'm sure Boot Fuck worships you. He probably has a shrine built in the Iceman's honor in the back of your Humvee. When he's not Big Gay Al for Rudy he's Big Gay Al for you, am I right?" 

"About the Rudy part. But I ask you, Ray. Who isn't gay for Reyes? By the way, I've been meaning to ask: how does Sadie feel knowing she's second choice in your heart?" 

"She's learned to live with it. How about you?" Ray counters. "Your wife leave you for your best friend, Taylor yet? Which, I have to say, is the gayest name ever. This guy must have some cock to make up for having a girl's name. I'd have thought Taylor would have a whole harem of your women by now." 

"Not yet. But we're all going out to dinner this weekend." 

Ray shakes his head, sinks onto the couch. "Your life is fucked up, man." 

"Not as fucked up as yours, Ray. How's life in the loony bin? Oh, and how's work going?" 

"Ha and ha." All at once Ray thinks he might cry. Until he realizes what's going on. "Wait a fucking minute. Did Sadie tell you to call me?" 

"Ray," Brad says quietly, "maybe I just know when my former RTO needs someone to pretend to listen to his weak-ass bullshit troubles." 

"Or maybe my wife guilted you into calling me for some kind of retarded pep talk." 

"Your wife said she'd cut off my balls. She said she'd deep fry them, and force me to eat them if I didn't cheer you the fuck up." 

Ray smiles thinly. "She does have a fucking awesome beer batter recipe. I'm just saying." 

"She's a little bit psycho, Ray. A little bit Trombley," Brad says. Ray doesn't have to see Colbert to know he's smirking. "Ray, you married Trombley." 

"Yeah, but Sadie's way hotter." 

There's a pause before Brad says: "I will admit that is true. But when she kills you in your sleep some night, don't come crying to me." 

"I've made my peace with that." 

"Your impending death or the way your fucking pathetic heart breaks at your inability to cry to your Sergeant?" 

"Both." 

They laugh. Silence falls between them, but it's a comfortable silence. It sounds a lot like the interior of sweltering Humvee at 0100 hours. 

Brad breaks the silence first. "Ray, I've got news for you." 

"Yeah?" 

"I'm not gonna hang myself with my pajama bottoms." 

Ray drops his head into his free hand. For fuck's sake. 

"Know why?" 

Ray sighs, resigned. "Why?" 

"Because that's gay. And I am a straight-up badass United States motherfucking Marine heterosexual. So is Poke and so are you." 

"Wait. Are you saying I'm  _not_  gay?" 

"That's between you and your cock, Ray. I just meant you're going to be okay." 

"How do you know?" 

"Because if you  _ever_  do something that retarded Special Olympics overtime gay, I will personally drag your skinny ass out of your grave--which will probably be a hole beneath your sinking Whiskey Tango front porch--and beat you right back to life. Then I'll kill you myself for making Sadie cry, not to mention making me go to all that fucking effort." 

"Dude," Ray says, "I'm too lazy to kill myself. I got tired just listening to you." Earlier, his throat had felt like a funnel, like every word he'd ever said in his life was lodged there in a tight, smoldering ball. Like he'd been the one with a noose around his neck. Now he can't stop smiling. 

"I know. So you might as well get on with whatever passes for your life. Did you tell your fucked up patient all he needs is good pussy?" 

Ray's eyebrows jump. "Hey, maybe I could bring in a really high class hooker who's all about the strange. She could fuck these guys sane." 

"Ray, that is an excellent idea. I think you should tell that to your Doctor Reid, see if he's willing to incorporate it into his treatment plan." 

Ray laughs. "Dude, I will." 

"When he fires your ass, you know where I am." 

"Yeah," Rays says, and a weight lifts from his shoulders. "I do." 

"Feeling better?" Brad asks. "Did sergeant Brad cheer up your sorry ass?" 

"Fuck you," Ray says, still smiling. But what he means is  _thanks._  And Brad knows him well enough to get the message. 

 

* * * 

By the following afternoon Jake is back in the ward. He's on suicide watch which means he's never alone. It's more work for all the nurses, but Ray doesn't care. It's more than worth it if shadowing Mendez keeps him alive. 

Ray updates his charts in Sarge's room. He's using his knees for a desk, his feet are propped up on an extra chair. 

"You don't have to worry," Sarge says. He's lying on his bed, arms crossed behind his head. "It won't happen again. I don't have the guts to do that shit twice. When I go out, it ain't gonna by my own hand, man." 

Ray nods like Jake's statement didn't just set off a cacophony of alarm bells in his head. 

Ray heads straight for Doctor Reid's office when Simon takes over babysitting duty. He stands in the doorway to Reid's office, watching the doctor. He's some kind of speed reader; Reid's version of reading is moving a finger down a page in the space of two seconds. It's just one more thing about Doctor Reid that simultaneously impresses and creeps Ray out. 

Reid's bent over his desk, speaking softly into a small recorder. Not many people on the locked ward know that Reid majored in psychology and ultimately became a psychiatrist because his mother is schizophrenic. In fact, Diana Reid is on the first floor. When Reid's not working up here, he's usually with his mother. Reid once told Ray his father walked out on him and his mom when Reid was a kid. He spent years taking care of his mother, studying psychiatry long before he was Doogie Howsering his way toward a medical degree. Doctor Spencer Reid is the only person Ray knows who might be smarter than River Tam. 

Sometimes River's therapy sessions turn into long discourses on quantum physics or marathon Chess games. Simon and Ray have both intervened so River can eat dinner and Reid can go home...or at least downstairs. On more than one occasion Reid and River simply ate in his office so they could continue their discussion or game. Ray's never said this out loud--and he never will--but sometimes he thinks Reid identifies a little too much with his patients. 

"Ray? Can I help you?" 

Person blinks, nudged out of his reverie by Reid's voice. He hides a smile. That's classic Doctor Reid. Not  _do you need something_  but  _how can I help?_  

Ray nods. "Do you have a second?" 

Reid sets the recorder down, waves Ray in. "Of course." 

Reid's desk is stacked high with books and paper. A rainbow of girly gel pens litter the desk as well. Reid catches Ray staring and smiles. "If it helps, I didn't buy them. Penelope gave them to me." 

Ray's gaze flicks to the framed photo on Reid's desk. It sits beside the plaque that reads  _Doctor Spencer Reid_  and shows Penelope Garcia: a smiling pink and blond-haired women with nerd glasses that remind Ray a little too much of Garza's. 

Ray knows Penelope. She stops up once or twice a week to collect Reid for lunch. They've been friends since forever, as far as Ray can tell. Penelope is Reid's Luz. 

"Have a seat," Reid says, nodding to the big, overstuffed couch. 

Ray sits. He takes a second to look around Reid's office. Ray swears every time he's in here there's a new Certificate of this or Doctorate of that on the wall. Plus, he's got a collection of weird old psychiatry shit like an antique phrenology chart, books about graphology and typology, a brass caliper on a stand. There's also a pipe that's rumored to have belonged to Sigmund Freud that no one's allowed to touch. 

There's a whole library's worth of modern books as well, including the  _Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders_ , the  _Psychodynamic Diagnostic Manual_ , and the  _Global Assessment of Functioning Scale_. There are books on Schizophrenia, Dissasociative Identify Disorder, sexual abuse, mood and anxiety disorders, as well as about a hundred  _Psychiatric Journals_  stacked in a precarious pile on the floor. 

There are three index cards taped to the back of Reid's computer monitor that read _Self Domain_ ,  _World Domain_ , and  _Others Domain._  More Tidal Model shit. Beneath the cards is a Happy Bunny sticker that says  _Cute but Psycho._  

"Nice sticker," Ray observes. 

Reid looks a little embarrassed. "Amanda gave me that." Then he steeples his fingers and leans forward. His classic  _I'm listening harder than anyone else will ever listen to you in your life_  posture. 

Ray clears his throat. "I just wanted to tell you I spent some time with Jake this afternoon." 

Reid's eyebrows go up. "How was he?" 

Ray frowns, shrugs. "I don't know. He seems...well, better. He didn't try to hang himself in front of me at any rate. But...he said something that made me nervous." 

Reid nods encouragingly. 

Ray feels a little like a third grade snitch but tells Reid the truth anyway. "He said he wasn't going to try to kill himself again. Which is good. But then he said something like, 'when I go out, it's not going to be my own hand.'" Ray sighs. "I'm probably just overreacting but--" 

Reid rubs his chin, taps the end of a green gel pen against his keyboard. "No, you're being cautious. You're paying attention. You're  _listening._. Ray, there's nothing more important than that. Thank you for telling me. I'll allude to it in today's therapy session, but I'll make sure I'm subtle enough that Jake doesn't realize you said anything. Okay?" 

Ray nods, relieved. 

"And that reminds me. No more smoking downstairs. I know George takes Amanda out the side entrance sometimes, but that's over. It's against the rules, and I realize I've been just as guilty of turning a blind eye as everyone else, but after what happened with Jake, I'm no longer willing to risk it." 

Oh  _no._  How is Ray going to get through a whole day without his sweet, sweet nicotine? 

"What about me and Luz? We can still smoke though, right?" 

"Ray," Reid says gently. "This is supposed to be a smoke-free facility. That means, _smoke-free._ " 

Person closes his eyes. 

"And don't try to get around this by bringing in that disgusting Copenhagen chewing tobacco again," Reid says firmly. 

Ray's eyes snap open, indignant. He can feel heat creeping up his face. "That was  _one_ time." 

A smile turns up the corners of Reid's mouth. "One time too many," Reid amends. "You know," the doctor says, "chewing tobacco and snuff contain 28 carcinogens and cancer-causing substances including formaldehyde, hydrazine, arsenic, nickel, cadmium, and polonium-210." 

Ray has no idea what polonium-210, except it sounds like something Doc Brown would use to rev up his Delorean. 

"I...don't use smokeless tobacco anymore," Ray says awkwardly, afraid this will bring on a fresh onslaught of cigarette-related statistics. 

But thankfully, Reid just nods. "Good. I'll share the bad news during group this afternoon. That way you don't have to be the one to bring Luz to tears." 

Well. That's something at least. 

Doctor Reid clicks a few keys on the keyboard but keeps his gaze on Ray. "Anything else?" 

"No. Thanks, Doc." 

"Thank  _you_ , Ray." 

Ray finds Luz in the kitchen. Lunch has just ended, George is loading orange plastic trays back onto the cart. 

There's one untouched plate that holds a hamburger, potato chips, and a piece of apple pie. Ray hates apple pie, but he picks off a piece of crust. 

"What was that about?" George asks, nodding toward Reid's office. 

"Nothing," Ray says, taking a bite of the hamburger. "Just checking up on Sarge." 

Luz lowers himself into the seat opposite Ray. "Jesus, that was something yesterday. I'm still freaked out." 

"No shit," Ray says, still chewing. 

George steals one of Ray's potato chips. "Who's Doc Bryan?" 

Ray frowns, eyebrows dipping. "Huh?" 

"When you found Mendez yesterday, you yelled for somebody named Doc Bryan," Luz explains. He's looking at Ray with a combination of worry and empathy. It's a look George usually reserves for the patients. Ray doesn't like being on the receiving end. 

"Don't look at me like that," Ray snaps. "I'm not fucking crazy." Ray pauses. "Aside from joining the Marines." He tries to remember calling for Doc Bryan. But he doesn't try very hard. Finding Jake on the floor is not something Ray wants to think about. Neither is what would have happened if he'd gotten there a few minutes later.

"Was Bryan your medic?" 

"He was our  _Corpsman_ , you retard." Person says, but there's no animosity behind the words. The Marines have Navy Corpsmen. The Army has medics. "I just...I don't remember doing that." He's not lying. He has no recollection of calling for Bryan. Then again, panic causes all kinds of weird shit. 

Luz picks up another chip. "That's because your brain is roughly the size of this potato chip." 

Ray reaches for a chip of his own and flicks it at Luz's head. 

"Motherfucker." 

"Cocksucker." 

Luz laughs. "We are fucking poetic, dude." He tosses the offending chips back on the plate. He stands, finishes stacking trays. "So Doc Bryan, he was a good guy?" 

"Fuck yeah," Ray huffs. "A helluva lot better than me." 

George grins. "Christ Ray, who isn't?" 

Ray lifts both middle fingers, waves them at George. 

"See, now this is why I'm so psyched to bring a kid into the world. So they can hang around classy guys like you." 

"Fuck that." Ray grins so wide his face hurts. "Just think, for a good five years, that kid's gonna believe anything I say." 

Luz casts a horrified look toward Ray. "That's it, I'm not letting you near my kid." 

Ray waves off Luz's statement. "Word to the motherfucking street, yo. Your kid is going to fucking  _love_  his or her Uncle Ray-Ray." 

"That's what I'm afraid of," Luz mutters. And then, louder: "Pers, does this look like a motherfucking street to you?" 

Ray chuckles, adds his tray to the cart. He breaks off a last piece of pie crust, pops it in his mouth, starts humming. 

By the time Ray unlocks the door and pushes the cart into the hall, he's singing. Not his usual half-assery, but  _really_  singing. 

Luz joins him. They grin at each other, voices in perfect harmony. 

_We were singing, bye-bye, Miss American Pie._  

Ray walks through the rec room, pats Nathan's shoulder. River sticks her tongue out at Luz. Luz crosses his eyes; she giggles. 

_Drove my Chevy to the levee, but the levee was dry._  

Nathan starts singing too. For just a moment he looks like a carefree boy in a school choir and not the troubled young man he is. 

Mario lifts the telephone handset and sings into his makeshift microphone. 

Alpha closes his eyes, lifts his face to the ceiling, and joins the impromptu concert. 

River claps her hands, jumps to her feet. She starts dancing some kind of complicated looking jig. 

_Them good old boys were drinkin' whiskey and rye, and singin', "this'll be the day that I die. This'll be the day that I die."_  

Tate glances up from the magazine he's coloring with a black crayon. He looks at Ray, uncertain. Then he does something with his mouth that vaguely resembles a smile and joins in. 

Tate has a nice voice. A little quiet, but surprisingly good. Ray starts the chorus again, and this time, Amanda sings too. She shakes her head, rolls her eyes, but belts out the words along with everyone else. 

There's about thirty verses of  _American Pie_ , but the chorus is the part everyone knows. Jesus fucking Christ on a crutch, Ray can't believe this is happening. Everyone is smiling, laughing,  _happy._  For a few minutes on a random Tuesday, the music unites them. Time stops. 

It's fucking beautiful. 

The song ends as abruptly as it started, but Nathan's still tapping his foot. Tate draws a bubble coming out of Nicole Kidman's mouth that reads  _Punky Brewster sings for her supper._  

Ray stands beside Mario's desk, awed. 

"Look at that," George says in wonder, "you really can sing." 

"I told you, homes," Ray says, smug. 

Alpha opens his eyes, turns a cold gaze on Ray. "I want Whiskey," he says. His voice is flat, polished, hard. The sound of ice. The blond man stands, moves slowly toward Ray. His head is down, fists clenched, his eyes like cigarette burns. "I need a treatment." 

"We don't have any whiskey," Ray says carefully, "but you can have a Diet Coke. Or an Orange Crush." All at once REM's crappy song of the same name loops through Ray's head and he just  _knows_  everything's about to turn shit. So much for fucking happy After School Special sing-a-longs. 

River snags Alpha's sleeve. She takes his hand and pulls him into her dance. At once, the malevolence falls from Alpha's face and his smile turns bright. Innocent. He laughs, and stumbles along with River, delighted. 

"That was a little gay," Tate informs Ray loudly. "Next time we should sing Metallica. Or Green Day." 

Ray ignores Tate's insult. He's still watching River and Alpha dance to their own private song. Only two of Tate's words get through:  _next time._  

* * * 

Ray's on the phone with the main reception desk on the first floor. Apparently, it's a fucking Herculean effort to get a fucking pizza delivered to the fourth floor. Lucky for Ray the receptionist is: 1) Reid's best friend, and 2) fucking awesome. Five minutes later there's a knock at the door. 

Person unlocks the door with his ID card and there stands Penelope Garcia with four boxes of pizza. She grins up at him, her blond hair in pig tails. Her plastic dork glasses sit low on her nose like she's the world's most colorful librarian. Garcia hands Ray the boxes, stands on her tip-toes, and kisses Ray's cheek. 

"Pass it on," she says. 

Luz walks up behind Ray, gives him a look. "Dude, she said pass it on." 

Ray holds up a finger. "Patience, dude. Let me eat my pizza and I'll give you some serious pepperoni flavored tongue after." 

George beams. "It's nice to have something to look forward to." 

Garcia laughs, waves her fingertips at Luz, winks at Ray. "Later, dawg." 

Ray winks back. "Later, homes." He sets the boxes along the top of Mario's counter. Ray brings paper plates and napkins from the kitchen. Ray snatches a napkin, wipes Garcia's lipstick off his face. 

"What's the occasion?" Sarge asks. "Three days with no suicide attempts?" 

"Hell yeah," Luz says. "We had to start a brand new count after your sweatpants incident." 

Sarge narrows his eyes at George. "My  _what_?" 

Two of the pizzas are pepperoni, two are sausage. That's it. Two choices. No sense scaring River with mushrooms. She'd probably spend half an hour looking for the remains of that hopped-up caterpillar and his hookah. 

Amanda appears at Ray's side looking nervous. She twists a paper napkin in her hands. 

"So...it's okay to have pizza?" she asks. 

Ray blinks, turns to stare at her. She looks ill at ease, and she won't meet his gaze which is fucking crazy because-- 

Ray's mouth drops open. " _Adam_?" 

Adam nods hesitantly. He puts his hand to his head, slowly pulls the wig off. He sets it next to the last pizza box. 

"Holy fucking  _shit_!" Ray yells, his voice slightly higher than he'd like, "Adam's here!" 

Everyone stares, pizza forgotten. Except for Alpha. He's got his back to the group and he's rocking back and forth. 

Ray quickly puts a protective arm around the young man. "Do you know where you are?" he asks quietly. "Sorry to get all excitable. I'm like one of those fucking yap dogs celebrity bitches tote around in their purses next to all the crack vials." And to think, he used to be America's pit bull. How far he's fallen. 

Adam bites at his thumbnail for a few seconds. "Silver Hills," he finally whispers. "Amanda told me." He threads his fingers through his tangled hair, blinks rapidly. He looks like he's about to cry. 

Okay. Rain check on the pizza party. No sense overwhelming the kid back into hiding. Ray guides Adam gently toward his room. 

River runs over, blocking their path. She curtsies in front of Adam. He won't look at her, so she bends lower, peers up into his face. "Welcome to Wonderland," she says. She grabs a piece of pepperoni pizza and flits back to the couch. 

"Hey," Tate calls, "I like to play board games." His gaze flicks to Mendez. "But not with cheaters." 

Ray thumbs his pager button. This would be a fucking awesome time for Reid to make an appearance. He hesitates, punches in  _emergency_  just to make sure Reid doesn't dawdle. 

George hands Adam a plate filled with both kinds of pizza. "Are you hungry?" 

"Jesus Christ, George, let the kid breathe." 

"I'm--I'm okay," Adam says, but his lying skills seem to be on par with Ray's. He takes a tentative bite, as if he's half expecting the pepperoni to explode in his mouth. 

Simon carries in an armful of bottled waters. He sets them on the coffee table, except one. He hands the remaining bottle to Adam. Simon does an actual double take at the sight of Adam Jackson sans wig. he glances at Ray, wide-eyed. 

Ray nods. 

Simon shakes Adam's hand and promptly starts babbling. "Hey Adam, thanks for joining us," he says, like Adam's deigned to accept a dinner invitation. Jesus Christ, is  _everyone_  around here retarded? 

The door clicks open and Doctor Reid appears, even more disheveled than usual. He's holding a half-eaten muffin in one hand, and has literally left a trail of crumbs behind him like fucking Hansel. Ray fights down the urge to laugh. Between Reid's Gingerbread House look and River's Alice in Wonderland, it really is becoming a fucking madhouse around here. 

"What's wrong?" Reid blurts at Ray. 

Everyone points to Adam, like they're in some kind of fucked-up sitcom. Ray almost expects to hear a laugh track. Something like  _The Crazy Years_  or  _One Nutjob at a Time._  

Reid takes a step toward Adam. He looks so hopeful it's actually painful to see. Ray finds himself gazing at Reid's ID instead of the doctor's face. 

"Adam?" 

Adam nods hesitantly, then smiles. He flicks a quick look at Reid's face. "Thanks for...for waiting," he says. "For not giving up." 

Reid swallows. "Adam," he says, "I would never give up on you." 

And even though the touchy-feely shit is strictly forbidden, Doctor Spencer Reid gives Adam Jackson a great big fucking hug. Adam hugs Reid back and wouldn't you know it, Ray's stupid ass allergies pick this exact moment to make his eyes tear up. 

Fucking allergies. 

* * * 

The rest of the afternoon has an almost celebratory feel. Between the pizza and Adam and everyone's buoyant mood the day feels almost like a holiday. Best of all, River vomits on Simon's shoes after dancing a little too strenuously after lunch. 

Group starts late so Reid can spend some additional time with Adam. When group does start, there are no tantrums, tears, or breakdowns. Even Sarge seems like he's in a decent mood. He's back in the recliner, arms folded across his chest. But just because he seems okay, doesn't mean he is. Ray watches Sarge while he finishes his paperwork. Ray wants to believe Mendez won't try to kill himself again, but he knows better than to take anything for granted. Especially on days like today. 

Ray's making his final notes on River's chart when he realizes Adam is standing next to him. 

"Um. I was wondering if I could...maybe have a cigarette?" 

Luz gestures Adams over. "You bet, doll--uh, dude," George says, momentarily flustered. "But we can't take you downstairs." 

Adam glances toward the locked door. "Didn't Amanda go downstairs?" 

"Yeah, but we can't do that anymore. Rules are a little stricter since Jake tried to..." Luz trails off. 

Ray sighs. "Shit dude, I don't think any of the windows open up here." 

George smiles his best  _get a load of this_  smile. "We don't need windows, Ray." 

Luz leads Adam and Ray down the corridor, past the occupied rooms. The last room is empty, but the door is shut. Luz opens it to reveal a quilt covering the plain bed, an oscillating fan on the dresser, and a large poster of Angelina Jolie taped to the mirror. 

George points to the bathroom. "You can smoke in there. Flush the cigarette when you're done. One cigarette's not gonna do shit with the fan." Luz shrugs, pulls out a pack of Lucky Strikes. He lights one, hands it to an extremely grateful looking Adam. "I smoke back there all the time." 

Ray's mouth drops open. "You deceiving, conniving Virgin worshiping motherfucker. How were you going to keep this from your dearest pal Ray-Ray?" Ray demands, stunned. "You've obviously flunked confession and now you're going to hell for not telling me you've got yourself a fuck pad back here." 

Luz laughs. "Jesus Christ, it's not a fuck pad. Who am I gonna fuck? This is where I smoke and  _pretend_  I just got laid." 

Ray shakes his head, inspects the picture of Angelina. "I cannot believe you kept your smoking room a secret. I am deeply hurt." 

"Maybe this will help," Luz says, tossing Ray the pack of Luckies. 

Adam sits on the edge of the tub. He taps ash into the toilet, takes a long drag. "What if the smoke alarm goes off?" 

"Who cares," Luz says. "It hasn't yet." He lifts an eyebrow. "And if it does, we'll just blame Simon." 

Ray grins, lighting up. "I'm in total gay love with you right now." 

Luz nods stoically. "Most guys are. It's a burden, but I bear it well." 

Adam laughs. "Jeez, you guys are the crazy ones." 

"Fuck kid, why do you think we work here?" Ray asks. 

Luz opens the top dresser drawer. "Hey guys, don't forget to spritz yourselves with my favorite cologne when you're done," he says, holding up a spray bottle of Febreze. 

* * * 

They return to the rec room after fifteen minutes. "I'm telling you, I feel like baking a fucking cake," Ray announces, then reconsiders. "Okay, not baking a cake. But I'd definitely eat one." 

Alpha's in with Reid, River's making more corrections to  _Alice_ , Tate's playing Solitaire. Sarge is still in his chair, busy writing in a notebook. Nate's at the far table immersed in an X-Men graphic novel. 

Simon sniffs, casts a suspicious look at George. "What's that smell?" 

Luz and Ray look at each other, all raised eyebrows and innocence. 

Adam turns and walks back to his room, the big baby. 

Simon stares at Ray and Luz like he's the fucking headmaster of Stick Up the Ass Academy and they've just been caught cheating. Don't tell Tate. 

"Why do you smell like smoke?" 

Luz leans toward Simon. "Why do  _you_  smell like hair gel and failure?" 

"That's not smoke," Ray points out, "that's the smell of triumph." 

Luz snaps his fingers, nods in agreement. "Victory." 

River holds her hand out for another Sharpie. Simon slaps a green one on into her palm. "You do realize neither of you idiots had anything to do with Adam's reappearance, right?" 

Luz makes a disgusted face. "Jesus, Simon, why do you always have to be such an ass?" 

River pokes Simon with the pen cap. "Don't be an ass," she whispers, frowning. "You're supposed to be a rabbit." 

Simon sighs, takes the pen cap from River and puts in his pocket. "Look, I know you've been smoking. Why do you insist on lying?" 

Ray sits on the coffee table, holds up a finger. "Number one, I don't insist. If somebody wants to lie, okay, but it's certainly not mandatory." He holds up a second finger. "Second, cuz it's really fucking fun." He grins. "You should see the look on your face." 

River stares at her brother, eyebrows knitted in concentration. "You look like a tomato," she says. She brightens. "Is there any pizza left? I'm hungry." 

Luz sits next to Ray. "You're just pissed you missed American Idol: Psych Ward Edition yesterday. Don't worry about it. You'll get your chance to sing  _Superfreak_ sooner or later." 

"For God's sake," Simon mutters, throwing his hands in the air. "You're impossible," he says, stalking out of the room. 

"I can do six impossible things before breakfast," River says, crossing out a word in her book. 

"Really?" Simon calls from the kitchen. "Is one of them getting those two to shut the hell up?" 

River smiles thinly. "No." She looks at Ray. "But I could kill you with my brain," she says the way you might say  _I know how to whistle._  

Ray doesn't believe her, but the look on her face makes him a little nervous all the same. If anybody  _could_  kill him with their brain it would be River. Or maybe Reid. Captain American, on the other hand, has the ability to nearly kill people via his _lack_  of brainpower. 

"I know," Ray tells her. "Why do you think I'm always so nice to you?" 

"Because you're smarter than you look?" 

Ray gapes at her. 

Luz guffaws. He's laughing so hard he almost falls off the table. Bastard. 

River reaches out, draws a little green heart on the back of Ray's hand. "See?" she says. "I could never hurt you. I just gave you my heart." 

Ray smiles, touched. "Thank you, River." 

Simon returns with a handful of soup crackers from the kitchen. He hands River one of the Saltine packets, drops the rest on the table by Tate. 

"This is the first time I've seen Adam," Simon says to Ray and Luz. "I can't believe he's really here." 

"Fuck dude, this is the first time  _I've_  seen Adam," George says, "and I've been here a hell of a lot longer than either of you." 

"Shit, maybe he can get out of here," Ray says, reaching for a pack of crackers. "He could end up in a half-way house like Alby." He tears the plastic with his teeth. Okay, probably not since Amanda killed people, but still. You never know. It doesn't hurt to hope. Well, not much, anyway. 

Sarge looks up from his notebook. "Alby? Who's that?" 

"Albert Blithe," Luz explains. "He's this kid I served with in the 506th. He was pretty fucked up when he got back, spent a few months here last year." George points at Jake. "But he got better. You will too." 

Sarge starts writing again. "I don't have time to get better," he says. 

* * * 

Sarge's friend Mike is back on Saturday. They sit with their heads together like they're plotting some serious shit. Once Ray hears the words  _Three Rivers Bank_ , keeps walking. They're talking about banks?  _Boring._  Boring or not, Mike looks like he's about to burst into tears. 

"It's gonna be okay, man," Sarge says, putting a hand on the back of Mike's neck. "I promise." 

Mikey nods, wipes his face. 

Nathan's mother brings him a grocery bag full of books. More X-Men, some _Runaways_ , nothing too violent. There's a bunch of Agatha Christie, some nonfiction World War 2 stuff, a few bestsellers, and a book roughly the size of a pony titled  _The Entire Works of Sir Aurthur Conan Doyle_. Nathan smiles at her, clearly excited. He plants a quick kiss on her cheek, hauls the gigantic book off to show Reid. Nathan's mother moves to the window, stares outside. 

Ray edges next to her. "Are you okay?" 

She nods, not looking at him. She keeps her gaze on the garden, on the patients sitting outside, walking with family members, blowing bubbles. Attendants trail behind the various groups, watching. For one surreal moment, Ray wonders exactly who's keeping track of who. 

"I saw my little boy again," she says, her voice wavering. "For just a minute. But he's still there." She leans her forehead against the glass and smiles, even as she cries. "He's still there." 

Ray covers for Justin when he comes down with the flu. It means Ray's weekend is delayed, but it's nice to be around for second shift. He plays Monopoly with Nathan, Adam, Tate and Sarge. The evening movie is  _Signs_  which is fucking boring. The only alien in the whole movie is that asshole dicksuck Mel Gibson. 

Ray hands out bedtime meds and by 2200, the lights are out. Everything goes quiet and Person flips through one of Nathan's comics until the sound of sobbing makes its way to the rec room. 

"Ignore it," Frank tells him. He's blond and reminds Ray a little of Brad. If Brad were overweight and perpetually squinting. "He cries in his sleep every night. We used to wake him up, but he'd start right back in once he fell asleep again." He goes back to the e-mail he's writing on Mario's computer. "Besides, it's a lot better than the screaming." 

Ignoring Sarge seems like a lousy plan in Ray's opinion. What kind of shit has Jake seen that even his subconscious is depressed? Is it shit from the war or from prison or both? Or maybe it's about his dead wife and missing kid? Christ, no wonder he's fucked up. Maybe waking Mendez isn't the right thing to do, but leaving him alone feels just as wrong. 

Ray settles himself into a chair in the corner of Sarge's room. He rests his head against the wall and watches the clock as Jake cries. 


	4. Chapter 4

_When we remember we are all mad,  
the mysteries disappear and life stands explained. _  
~ Mark Twain

  
  
  
  
  
  
So far, Monday's pretty okay. Sarge seems to be in a better mood. He cracks jokes during breakfast, tells Nathan he used to be a fat kid after meds. It's a relief after listening to Jake cry for the past two nights.   
  
Ray cannot  _wait_  until tomorrow. Tuesday is the start of his weekend. Sadie has Tuesday off too, so they'll have the whole day together.   
  
After morning meds Luz leaves to meet Delia at the OBGYN. Apparently, her doctor's going to do an ultrasound. Make sure she's carrying an actual baby and not using her uterus to stash spare change or Skittles.   
  
Ray doesn't notice Simon's gone until River asks where he is.   
  
Mario points down the hall. "Maybe he's in the super secret smoking room with Adam."   
  
"How super secret can it be if you know about it?" Ray demands. "Besides, Simon's not that cool." To River: "No offense."   
  
She rolls her eyes. "None taken."   
  
Adam comes out of his room, stops when he sees River, Mario, and Ray staring at him.   
  
"What?"   
  
"You seen Simon?" Ray asks.   
  
Adam shakes his head.    
  
Nathan holds up a pack of cards and waves Adam over.   
  
"Maybe he's taking a leak," Ray suggests.   
  
"Nope," Mario says, "Nobody's in the staff bathroom."    
  
"How do you know?"   
  
"Because  _I_  just took a leak."   
  
Ray checks the rec room again, as if Simon's hiding beneath the couch cushions or behind the fake fern. That's when he realizes Jake's gone too.   
  
_Oh Christ_ , Ray thinks.  _Not again._   
  
Ray licks his lips, pushes the panic back into a manageable size. "River, stay here. I'll be right back."   
  
Jake's room is empty. Ray checks the bathroom and  _fuck_ . He feels bile rise in his throat. Jake is in the tub, his face bloody. Wait. There's no water and Sarge's wrists look okay. And it's not Sarge, it's  _Simon._  Tam's head is bleeding, he's unconscious, stripped to his boxers.   
  
Shit. This can't be good.   
  
The door swings shut and Sarge is standing there in Simon's scrubs, in his ugly fucking shoes. He's holding a toothbrush. Ray stares at it a second before the word _shiv_  appears in his mind like one of those old VH1 pop-ups.   
  
Sarge is sweating. He smiles a horrible, desperate smile. He looks ten years older than he did fifteen minutes ago. "You say anything and I'll stab you, Ray. I don't want to, man, but I will. I've killed better men than you."   
  
Even if Ray wanted to say something--and he fucking loves talking--his vocal chords have just gone on vacation. And so have his words. All he's got left are  _what_ and  _the_  and  _fuck._   
  
"Put your pager in the sink," Sarge says. His voice is hard, a tone Ray's never heard Sarge use before. But it's not unfamiliar. It's the sound of an NCO.   
  
Ray drops his pager in the sink as instructed.   
  
Sarge puts a hand on Ray's shoulder, propels him out of the bathroom. Ray walks, thinking as fast as he fucking can. He dusts off his old Marine training and jerks away from Sarge. Ray sidesteps, pivots, and narrowly misses Jake's fist and the shiv it's holding.   
  
Ray throws up an arm and blocks Jake's fist again, grabs the other man's wrist, and smashes it into the dresser. The toothbrush clatters across the floor.   
  
Sarge and Ray lock eyes, breathing hard, both fueled by fear and adrenaline.   
  
"You don't have to do this," Ray says, stalling for time. His gaze flicks to the dropped weapon. At least he managed to disarm Sarge. Now he just has to calm him down. There's no fucking way Ray's going to let Sarge near the other patients like this.   
  
"That's where you're wrong," Sarge says.    
  
The pain is so big, so bright, so  _blinding_ , Ray feels like the fucking sun just swallowed him. He has no idea where the pain came from, but it's here now, entrenched, part of him, and he knows it's not going away. Ray groans, sags against the side of the bed. Sarge snakes an arm around him, keeps him upright.   
  
Ray blinks, tries to focus on something besides the agony roaring through his side. It shoots jagged tendrils down his leg, up to his neck. Jesus fucking Christ. Fuck. Sweat runs down Ray's back, his chest, his armpits. It burns his eyes. Maybe he's on fire. Did Sarge set him on fire? That doesn't even make sense.    
  
Person blinks, clenches his teeth. There's something sticking out of him. Something that's  _not_  supposed to be there. Something metal. Something sharp. There are no sharps on this floor, so what the fuck is it? Mario's letter opener. It's a gold knife-looking thing. Mario uses it to slice bagels when he's not opening mail. It's no kabar, but it still. Fucking.  _Hurts._  Sarge had two weapons? Now  _that's_  fucking cheating.   
  
"Jake," Ray manages. That single word feels like a dictionary in his mouth: heavy and dry. "Don't do this."   
  
Sarge makes a choking sound. It might be laughter. "It's a little late now, man. I'm sorry, Ray. I warned you. Now. I'm gonna pull this out. I want you to put your hand over the hole so you don't keel over, you understand me?"   
  
Ray nods. Not keeling over would be good.   
  
"It's gonna fucking hurt, man, and I'm sorry. But if you make noise, if you warn them, I swear to God I'll kill them all. River, Nate, Adam, Alpha. Mario, and that asshole Tate." Sarge grips Ray's shoulder tighter. "And then you."   
  
Ray nods again, which is a mistake. The motherfucking pain screams inside him. Ray gasps, does his fucking best not to follow suit. He'll be quiet. He has to be, because Brad's not here and neither is Fick and the only weapon Ray has is his silence. He'll do whatever it takes to protect his fucking band of crazies.   
  
"Don't hurt anybody," Ray grits between clenched teeth. "It's...going to be okay." Ray isn't sure if he's trying to convince Sarge or himself. He hopes it's Sarge because Ray's not fucking buying it.   
  
"One...two... _three._ "   
  
Sarge claps one hand over Ray's mouth, pulls the letter opener out with the other. Ray doesn't scream, but tears leak from his eyes and he hisses against Jake's hand. Ray presses his palm to the wound. He can feel his scrub top grow damp beneath his fingers. Christ, Ray's not even a patient but he just beat Alpha out for the title of seriously fucked.   
  
"That was real good, man," Sarge says, pushing Ray toward the hall. "I have Simon's key and now I'm taking yours." Mendez pulls the lanyard from around Ray's neck. "Don't be a fuckin' hero, Ray. Not unless you feel like a little more aeration. It's good for the soil, man, not you."   
  
Ray lets Jake push him into the hallway. Ray has to try again, before they reach the rec room.    
  
"Sarge. Look, you don't have to do this."   
  
"I have to get out of here. You don't understand. I  _have_  to. This isn't about this fucking place, it's not about you. None of this is personal. This is about my brothers."   
  
They reach the rec room. Luz still isn't back and there's a part of Ray that's glad. If anything happened to George, Ray would never forgive himself. Never.   
  
Mario's at his desk.   
  
Nathan and Adam are playing cards. River's reading about Alice for the millionth time. Tate's watching  _Jeopardy._  Alpha's staring out the window.   
  
Ray blinks, takes another step, then another. He's torn between wanting Sarge to get the fuck out before anyone notices what's happening and wanting Alpha to punch Jake's face in. Also, it would be nice if somebody gave Ray a bucket of Percoset and stitched him up.   
  
He's not exactly sure where he's been stabbed. It feels like his kidney. Which sucks, but hey, he's got two. The pain is radiating like a son of a bitch, it could be his pancreas or large intestine just got schwacked. If Ray ends up with a colostomy bag he's going to be fucking pissed.    
  
Ray's pants leg and right sock are wet with blood. Bleeding outside your body is easy to keep track of, it's the hemorrhaging inside your thoracic or abdominal cavity that fucks you over.   
  
River looks up from her book. Her gaze falls on Ray, on Jake. Her expression doesn't change but she sets  _Alice's Adventures in Wonderland_  on the table, stands. Ray closes his eyes, tries to send a subliminal message to River to sit her ass back down.   
  
Next time he looks River is still watching him, but she hasn't moved.   
  
Tate has.   
  
Tate's staring at the letter opener, at the blood leaking from Ray's side.   
  
"What the fuck are you doing?" Tate demands. "You can't hurt Ray. That's against the rules." Tate's fists clench, he kicks the coffee table, tips it on its side. River's book falls. "You said we had to follow the rules and now you break them? You know what that's called?" Tate moves closer, livid. " _Cheating._ "   
  
"Get back," Sarge growls. "I'm only gonna tell you once."   
  
"Fuck you," Tate hisses. "You're a fucking liar." He heads straight for Sarge.   
  
Ray figures he's just not paying enough attention since he's in excruciating pain and possibly dying, but it  _looks_  like River does some kind of spinning kick  _Matrix_  move that drops Tate to the floor like a brick. Ray would probably find it even cooler if he weren't struggling to stay conscious.   
  
River tilts her head at Sarge. "Where's Simon?"   
  
Nathan drops his cards. His eyes are huge. He's staring at Ray's bloody hand. "Are you...are you bleeding?" He looks horrified. He looks excited.   
  
Jake spins Ray around, presses the letter opener to his throat. Ray grits his teeth, but doesn't flinch. Mostly because he's already in so much pain the pressure against his neck doesn't even matter.   
  
"No hard feelings, guys, but I'm outta here. Can't stand the food, you know? Got stuff to do, man, bills to pay, people to see. River, Simon's okay. He's just gonna have a headache is all. Go see if you don't believe me."   
  
River takes a step closer, expressionless.   
  
"I respect the bond between family," Sarge tells her. "Brothers and sisters. Brothers and brothers, brothers-in-arms. But Ray? He's not your brother, River. So if you pull that ninja shit on me I'm gonna stick this blade right through his neck and turn him into a fucking shish-kabob."   
  
"Please, don't," Adam whispers. He and Nathan have moved to the far end the room, backs to the windows. As if leaning against reinforced glass actually offers the hope of escape.    
  
River bends at the waste, picks up her fallen book, and throws it without looking. It flies right at Jake. He yanks Ray forward and it hits Ray in the face.    
  
"Fuck!" Ray yelps. Fresh tears leak from his eyes. He puts a hand to his face, smearing blood across his cheek. "River, could you please not do that?"   
  
River claps a hand to her mouth in dismay. "Ray! I'm sorry!"   
  
Ray starts to shiver. Blood loss and shock both contribute to lower body temperature. He can feel the tachycardic stuttering of his heart against his ribcage. This would be a good time not to have medical knowledge. Because it's hard to maintain a positive attitude when you're so fucking dizzy you feel like you just got off the Tilt-o-Whirl. And feeling dizzy probably means his blood pressure is falling. Which means he's lost at least 15% of his blood volume so far. Still, that's okay. He can survive this. He's survived worse. It's not like living in a Humvee with Trombley for a month was a fucking picnic.   
  
Mendez digs the blade into Ray's neck. "Mario, you touch that phone and Ray's dead. And then I'll kill you. Don't think I won't, man. Pull the phone outta the wall, throw it over the desk. Same with your pager."   
  
Mario doesn't move.   
  
River takes another step. She looks like she's floating. Ray blinks at her. He's never really noticed before, but River is truly beautiful. Ethereal, almost. With her pale skin and dark hair she looks like one of Grandma Arlene's porcelain dolls.   
  
"Mario!" Sarge snaps. Mario jerks, yanks the phone and sends it crashing over the counter. His pager follows. It falls on the floor and bounces next to Ray's foot.   
  
"Don't do it," Sarge growls at River. "Stopping me isn't worth killing Ray." Jake shakes his head. "A wolf's gotta be free, man."   
  
River shakes her head. "You can't live in the wild."   
  
"Baby, I can live wherever I want. I'm the Big Bad Wolf, remember? That's the name you gave me. And you called yourself an albatross, but you're not. You're a sparrow. Or maybe that fucking blue bird of happiness. You're gonna fly out of here someday, I know it. You're gonna make the world a better place." Sarge's voice goes hoarse. "Make up for some of my shit." Sarge adjusts his hold on Ray's neck. "But you're not going anywhere today."   
  
Alpha pads over to River. He's barefoot. He takes her hand. "Doctor Saunders used to give me lollipops," he says wistfully. "The old Doctor Saunders, not the new one."   
  
Everyone ignores him.   
  
"Mario, throw me your ID. I can't have you coming after me. My guys are waiting outside and we want this to go nice and smooth. Nobody else has to get hurt."   
  
Mario glares at Sarge, but he throws the ID. Alpha lets go of River's hand and catches it effortlessly. He studies the laminated card.   
  
"Hey man, you want to come with me? Anybody who wants to get the fuck out of this place, I ain't gonna stop you. But once you're outside, you're on your own."   
  
Nathan and Adam look at each other, but neither boy moves. Tate's still curled on the floor.   
  
Alpha smiles, puts a hand to his chin, as if he's deep in thought. "You know," he says, "I think I could use some fresh air."   
  
"Alpha," River cries, " _no_ ."   
  
Sarge drags Ray backwards. Ray's feet move, but he doesn't feel them. His teeth are chattering. Ray doesn't remember getting hit by shrapnel. Was it an IED or an RPG? Where the fuck is Brad?   
  
"Brad," he mumbles. "Where's Colbert?"   
  
"This is almost over," Sarge says, patting Ray's shoulder. "Hang on, buddy. You just hang on."   
  
Ray can't tell who's talking. Rudy maybe. He's just so fucking tired. Why the fuck can't he lie down?   
  
There's a click, the sound of a door opening.   
  
River's standing on top of a berm, her hair blowing in the wind. Ray stares at her dully. Since when was River in Iraq?   
  
"I relieve and release your hurt that you may be set free,” she calls. Ray has no idea if she's talking to him or not.   
  
He's in the hallway. A door slams. From someplace very far away, River is yelling for Ray, for Alpha.   
  
Alpha's right here. His face looms over Ray. Time skips and Ray finds himself lying on his back. Someone's arm is pinned beneath him. Ray tries to roll over, in case it's Brad or Walt.   
  
"I need to find Doctor Saunders," Alpha says. He slashes the letter opener just above Ray's face, grinning like it's Christmas. "X marks the spot."   
  
Ray thinks Alpha's going to kill him, which is a disappointing ending to an already shitty day. But then a black dude dressed in scrubs puts a gun to Alpha's head and says: "I suggest you move along, son."   
  
Alpha hesitates, offers a crisp salute. "I appreciate the suggestion," he says, and launches himself through the stair well door. Ray listens to Alpha's footsteps echo further and further away.   
  
Sarge pushes himself to his feet. "Thank you, Mister Cat."   
  
"No problem, Mister Wolf."   
  
Ray closes his eyes. Who the fuck is Mister Cat? And since when did the fucking desert get this cold?   
  
Somebody drags Ray across the sand. There's a musical  _ding_  noise that sounds familiar, but Ray can't place it.   
  
"Shit, Sarge, what'd you  _do_ ?"   
  
Mister Cat kneels beside Ray, feels his side. Ray gasps. He needs Doc. Doc will know what to do. Doc Bryan  _always_  knows what to do.   
  
"Just help him, will you?" Sarge yells.   
  
Ray grimaces. Christ. No need to get bitchy. Ray's in the remains of a warehouse. Brilliant spokes of light spear through the open ceiling. No, he's in an elevator. A fluorescent light buzzes above him like a mosquito.    
  
There's a black mark on one of the elevator walls. He never noticed it before. It looks like paint. Or magic marker. Maybe River was trying to fix the elevator along with her book. His hand feels too heavy to keep at his side. He lets it fall to the floor. Ray turns his head, stares at the wet, red palm of his hand. He wants Sadie. He'd feel better if Sadie were here.   
  
Someone is saying his name. Not Brad. Not George either. Ray tries to focus through the haze of pain. It's Sarge. Sarge is kneeling beside him, holding his hand. He looks like he wants to cry. Jake's hand is shaking as badly as Ray's.    
  
"I'm sorry I stabbed you. I didn't mean to. I'm really sorry, man."   
  
Ray feels like he should be pissed about the whole stabbing thing, but hears himself mutter: "It's okay." Maybe it is.   
  
Doc Bryan is working on him now, finally. He yanks up Ray's blood-soaked shirt, applies a pressure bandage, holds it in place with strips of adhesive medical tape.   
  
Ray pulls at Sarge's hand. He might be crying, he can't tell.   
  
"Don't go, homes. It's gonna end...bad. They'll find you." Ray fights to stay conscious. "They'll throw your... ass right back...in here." Each word feels like another stone weighing him down, but he's got to warn Mendez. "Or worse...back in prison."   
  
"I ain't going back to jail, man. Don't you worry about that. I'm not staying inside one more day. Leavenworth, this place, Iraq, it's all the same. They're  _all_  prison. I can't breathe in here, man. It's too fucking small, too dark." Sarge shrugs. "I know I'm just trading one black hole for another, but shit. I'm okay with that."   
  
Mister Cat puts a hand on Jake's arm. "Sarge, we gotta go."   
  
Sarge looks down at Ray. "I'm sorry, man," he whispers. "I'm sorry about all of this."   
  
The elevator doors open.   
  
Ray's eyes close.   
  
* * *   
  
Fruity Rudy's sitting on the edge of his bed.   
  
He looks at Ray, worried. "I hope this is good dharma, brother."   
  
Ray squints, tries to swallow.    
  
Only it's not Rudy at all. Sadie's sitting beside him, her eyes red and puffy from crying.   
  
Ray's stomach flutters at the sight of her distress. Shit, what happened?   
  
She leans toward him, squeezes his hand in both of hers. "Ray?"   
  
"What's...wrong?"   
  
Well for one thing, his voice. It sounds like he's been gargling sand. And his throat is fucking sore; his jaw aches. Christ, this must be what it feels like to suck Manimal's ginormous donkey cock. Shit, where the fuck did  _that_  come from?   
  
Sadie doesn't answer his question. Instead, she asks: "How do you feel?" Her voice is small and stiff, like she folded it down into one of those little origami stars.   
  
And standing next to Sadie is Luz. Ray stares at him. Why is everybody standing around in his bedroom?   
  
Luz smiles, but it's a weak attempt. Ray can see he's been crying just like Sadie. Since when did everyone he knows become a weak-ass pussy?   
  
"What the fuck, dude?" Luz asks. "How come all the good stuff happens when I'm gone?"   
  
Ray's forehead wrinkles. "What...good stuff?"   
  
Sadie turns one of her best glares on Luz. "Shut up."   
  
Ray wants to ask what's going on, but it takes too much energy to keep his eyes open, to find the words. He lets himself fall back into the dark safety of sleep.   
  
* * *   
  
The next time he opens his eyes, Luz is still there. He's sitting in a chair, snoring.   
  
This time Ray recognizes where he is: a hospital room.   
  
There's a glass of ice chips next to the bed. Ray reaches for it, manages to spoon a few chips into his mouth. He spoons a few more down his chin and the front of his gown.   
  
"Fuck," Ray hisses in annoyance.   
  
Luz lurches upright, blinks at Ray.   
  
"Shit, you're awake."   
  
"Yeah. And spilling ice all over myself."   
  
George sets the glass back on the table. He grabs a handful of tissues, mops at the damp spot on Ray's chest.    
  
" _Ow_ . Knock it off."   
  
George lifts his hands, takes a step back. "Sorry, sorry." Luz casts a nervous look toward the doorway. "Sadie's gonna be so pissed you woke up when she wasn't here."   
  
"Where is she?"   
  
"She's been here for the past two days, pal. I finally got her to go home and take a shower."   
  
Ray tries to sit up. Pain coils around him from thighs to chest, forces him back down. An ocean fills his head, roars in his ears, pulls him under. A monitor beeps once, twice. He lies still, concentrates on breathing. The pain is still there, waiting, but his head clears. The monitor beeps a final time, quiets.    
  
" _Two_  days?"   
  
Luz nods grimly.   
  
This is when Ray notices George looks horrible beneath the unforgiving lights. He's pale, his eyes are bloodshot, it looks like he hasn't shaved in days. His hair is long and uncombed. He looks like he's trying to take his imitation of Reid to a whole new level.   
  
"Do I look as bad as you?" Ray asks.   
  
"Worse."   
  
"Shit."   
  
Luz drops back into the chair, sits stiffly. "Ray, you almost died. By the time they found you, you lost a fuckload and a half of blood." Ray swipes at his eyes, looks at the wall above Ray's head. "You needed a fucking blood transfusion. You had to be intubated. You couldn't fucking breathe on your own."   
  
Person brings his hand cautiously to his side. He can feel the bandage, the hot, steady pain. The pull of stitches. He looks at his IV, the fluids hanging above the bed. Then he notices the button lying on top of the covers. "Holy fuck, is this morphine?"   
  
George nods.   
  
Ray beams. "Awesome." He presses the button and the pain slowly releases its iron grip. He could probably sit up now. Or do a few jumping jacks. But his pillow is really fucking soft so maybe he'll do that other stuff later.   
  
George leans forward, hands clasped. "Do you remember what happened?"   
  
Ray opens his mouth, shuts it. Sarge stabbed him, that  _motherfucker._ "Mendez...escaped? And Alpha?"   
  
Luz nods, his face pinched. "I'm sorry, Ray." George wipes at his eyes again. "I'm really fucking sorry."   
  
Ray stares at his friend, nonplussed. "For what?"   
  
"Because I was at the fucking doctor with Delia. I'm sorry I--"   
  
"George."   
  
"--wasn't there when you needed me. Christ, if you...if you had died I don't think--   
  
" _Dude._  Shut the fuck up. It's not your fault. It's Jake's fault. Hell, it's my fault for thinking I could talk him down instead of calling for help the second I saw Simon jammed in a fucking bath tub. So you can go ahead and take off your fucking hair shirt, George. Just tell me how Tam is."    
  
"He's okay. He got a few stitches, cried about losing his pretty, pretty looks."   
  
"The usual, then."   
  
George pulls on a truly pathetic smile. The morphine does nothing to take away the shitty feeling in Ray's stomach. He doesn't know how to help Luz deal with his guilt. Fuck, he doesn't know how to deal with his  _own._   
  
Ray tries anyway. "Luz. Listen to me. You have nothing to feel guilty about."   
  
George sighs, rests his hands on the edge of Ray's bed.   
  
"The doctor said Sarge saved your life in that elevator." Luz bows his head. "He, uh, stopped the bleeding."   
  
"It wasn't Sarge." Ray closes his eyes, concentrates. Everything's still hazy, his memories are all mixed up with Brad and Rudy. But he's pretty sure there was someone besides Sarge in the hall. Someone besides Alpha. Someone who had field hospital training. Like a corpsman. "Sarge had a guy waiting for him. I think there were guys outside too. Probably his old platoon. Maybe even good ol' Mikey."   
  
"Jesus Christ, what if they were still in the parking lot when I got back? What if I could have--"   
  
"Stop it," Ray says. "You knock that shit off right now, you hear me?"   
  
"I hear you," George says miserably.   
  
A swatch of color catches Ray's attention across the room. A purple construction paper heart taped above that fucking retarded pain chart.   
  
"What's that?" Ray squints at Sadie's handwriting.  _Dear world, if you fuck with Ray again, I will cut you. Sincerely, Sadie Person._   
  
Luz carefully plucks the note off the wall, hands it to Ray. "It's your purple heart, you moron."   
  
* * *   
  
Catheters  _suck_ . But Ray has to admit one would have come in handy during those epic traffic jams that left them idling for hours on Iraqi highways.    
  
Luz is still in the chair, working on a cross-word puzzle.   
  
"What, did you leave Delia for me?"   
  
"I wanted to, but i figured I'd stay with her for the sake of the kid."   
  
"How is the kid, by the way?"   
  
Ray looks up from the puzzle, holds his thumb and index finger about an inch apart.   
  
"About the size of a peanut."    
  
Sadie enters the room holding two cups of coffee. She hands one to Luz. He nods his thanks. Sadie's face brightens at the sight of Ray awake.    
  
"Hey babe."   
  
Ray pats his blanket, inviting Sadie to sit by him.   
  
There's a gigantic bouquet of flowers from Ray's mother on the table beside the bed. Floating above the monitors is a bouquet of silver and green Mylar balloons. Ray nods toward them.    
  
"Who are the balloons from?"   
  
"They wanted to send a bouquet of condoms but apparently FTD frowns on that kind of thing," Sadie tells him. She slides a card off the table, hands it to Ray.   
  
The card reads:  _Dear Retard, Everybody knows you're supposed to get killed at war, not at home. Stop being such an attention whore. Love, Brad and Tony._   
  
Ray laughs.   
  
Sadie doesn't. "They're right you know," she says quietly, her face uncharacteristically solemn.   
  
" _What_ ? I'm not an attention whore," Ray protests. Then adds: "Much."   
  
"No," Sadie says, poking Ray's good side. "You're supposed to be safe here. I waited for you to come home from that damn war, Ray. I waited and I was terrified you were going to get hurt or killed. But you didn''t. You came home and I...I let myself be happy."   
  
"You're allowed to be happy," Luz says adamantly.   
  
Sadie wedges herself onto the bed beside Ray, rests her head on his shoulder. "I don't think I can be happy without you," she whispers into his ear.   
  
"Sadie, people can get hurt anywhere. I'm safer here than in the Middle East, no matter what Jake did." Ray turns to look at her. "That's a fact. I'm okay. We'll be annoying each other for years to come." Ray kisses her forehead. "I promise."   
  
Sadie kisses him back. "I hope you're right." She disappears into the bathroom. Ray takes the opportunity to ask about Jake.   
  
"Still no sign of him," George says.    
  
Ray exhales quietly, watches the balloons float in a lazy circle. He gets that he should be pissed. He understands why Sadie is. He survived Operation Iraqi Freedom just to get stabbed by a fellow Marine back home. He should be breaking stuff. Screaming. Shaking his fist.  _His_  comms should be fucked.   
  
Maybe it's all the drugs he's on.   
  
Maybe he's just tired.   
  
Or, maybe it's the fact he feels like a failure.   
  
Aside from being a first class mimic, apparently Luz has learned to read minds as well.   
  
"You tried, bro. That's all you could do. You tried. Mendez didn't. This isn't on you, it's on him. I hope they catch that asshole."   
  
Ray closes his eyes. That's the problem. Ray hopes they  _don't._   
  
* * *   
  
Ray's picking at his lunch when Doctor Reid walks in.   
  
Ray nearly drops his spoon.   
  
"Doctor Reid?"   
  
Reid points to a chair. "May I sit?"   
  
"Of course. Is...everything okay?"   
  
Reid frowns, wrings his hands like an old lady. "Everything is most certainly not okay."    
  
"What's wrong?"   
  
Reid lifts an eyebrow, his voice ratcheting upwards like he's asking a question. "You're in the hospital."   
  
Ray rolls his eyes, smiles faintly. "I'm fine, Doc. How's everyone else?"   
  
"Better than you," Reid says. He shifts in the chair, moves his hands to the armrests. "I...um, well." Reid clears his throat, starts over. "I wanted to apologize, Ray."   
  
Jesus fucking  _Christ_  on a pogo stick. Why is everybody and their goddamn brother apologizing? You get stabbed and suddenly everyone feels guilty. Who new?   
  
"Doc--"   
  
Reid holds up a hand. "No.  _Ray._  Please. Let me finish." Reid gestures toward Ray. "You came to my office and told me exactly what Jake said. I--I should have taken immediate steps to prevent...to prevent what happened."   
  
Ray snorts, incredulous. "How? People say shit they don't mean all the time."   
  
Reid's lips compress. "That's no excuse." The doctor spears his fingers through his hair. "I'm just sorry you got hurt, Ray."   
  
Ray shrugs. "You don't have to feel guilty. Come on, you're a psychiatrist, right? Heal thyself."   
  
Doctor Reid tugs at one earlobe, eyes downcast. "If only it were that easy."   
  
Ray looks at his Jello. Bits of pineapple are suspended inside it like fossils. He hates pineapple.   
  
"How are you feeling?" Reid persists. "Really."   
  
"Like I got poked with something sharp," Ray says dismissively. He's aware he sounds pissy, but the police have already been here to take his statement and Alpha is still missing. Sadie acts like Ray's going to die any second, he's in pain, and now he has fucking pineapple Jello for dessert. What kind of fucking dessert is that, anyway? Christ, even Charms are better than Jello.  _And_ , to top it all off, Reid wants him to talk about his goddamn feelings.   
  
Reid doesn't reply. He just settles back into his chair like he's got all the time in the world.   
  
Ray begins digging pieces of fruit out of the Jello until there's a fairly substantial pile next to the remains of his grilled cheese sandwich. He watches Reid from the corner of eyes while he excavates.   
  
This is the part where Reid is supposed to take the hint, and get up and leave like a normal person. Only Reid  _isn't_  a normal person.   
  
Ray takes a cautious bite of non-pineapple infected Jello. It still tastes like pineapple, even without the slimy fruit chunks. He scowls, pushes the tray away.    
  
"Part of me is really pissed," Ray finally admits. "I mean, I made it through Afghanistan and Iraq without a fucking scratch. And I go through all that shit just to come home and get stabbed by another vet? It's--"    
  
"Not fair," Reid interjects.   
  
"I  _know._ . It's fucking--"   
  
"Retarded," Reid supplies.   
  
The word deflates some of Ray's anger. He stares at Reid, shocked to hear that word come out of the doctor's mouth.   
  
The doctor smiles mischievously. "What? You say it all the time."   
  
"Okay, fine. It's retarded. But you know what's even  _more_  retarded? I'm glad Jake got out. I'm glad he hasn't been caught." Ray folds his arms, defiant. "How fucked up is  _that_  shit?"   
  
Instead of withering beneath Ray's almighty glare, Reid simply sits quietly, calmly, thinking. He also looks like he never sweats, which annoys Ray even more.   
  
Reid nods slowly. "It's not fucked up at all," he says blithely, like his saying  _fucked_ out loud isn't a precursor to the end of the world. "You see a little of yourself in Jake. With your histories, that's only natural. You know, you tell everyone else to let go of their guilt, but maybe you should take your own advice."   
  
Ray's eyes narrow. His mouth drops open. "You came here to shrink me," he accuses.   
  
"I would never do such a thing," Reid says with a troubling smile. The doctor reaches into his ever-present messenger bag and pulls out a large sheet of paper, hands it to Ray. " _This_  is why I'm here."    
  
Ray unfolds the paper to reveal a giant, smiling, toothy grin. No face, no body, just the smile. In careful lettering are the words:  _Your smile is here but I miss the rest of you. XOXO, River Tam._   
  
Ray's eyes fill. "I'm the Cheshire Cat," he blurts at Reid, feeling both foolish and immensely proud at the same time. He smiles fondly at the picture, at the fact River wrote her last name. As if he wouldn't know who she was without it. Nathan signed the card as well. So did Adam. Even Tate wrote a message.  _I hope you feel better. P.S. Your teeth are nicer than River's picture_ . There's a loopy  _Simon Tam_  in the upper corner. Luz's message says:  _Enjoy this retarded card and get your ass back here pronto._  Mario signed it; so did Tommy and Justin and Frank and the rest of the second and third shift nurses.    
  
Ray looks at Reid, still smiling, eyes stinging. "Thanks," he says softly. "For everything."   
  
* * *   
  
Two weeks later Ray is back at work.   
  
Sadie's not happy he's leaving, but Ray is. It's fucking boring sitting around at home. The first week was great, aside from the fact he couldn't go up stairs, pick up anything heavier than a piece of fucking toast, or have sex. By the time Sadie was into her second week of hovering, the novelty wore off pretty fucking fast. Ray's mother drove up just to cry in surround sound and tell him he looked too skinny 70,000 times in a row. The last straw was when Ray beat  _Call of Duty 3_  in one fucking day. Come  _on_ , he was hardly even trying.   
  
Sadie makes him breakfast--which includes bacon, so she's not  _that_  pissed--and drives him to work. He feels retarded sitting in the passenger seat, like he's back in elementary school getting a ride from his mom. Sadie grins at him. "Have a nice day, Ray-Ray," she says in a bitchy sing-song.   
  
Ray pouts. "You're really fucking mean, you know that? I'm all injured and shit."   
  
She shrugs. "That's what you get for going back to work."   
  
He leans against the car door, turns serious. "George is going to give me a ride home."   
  
"Okay." Sadie watches him through the glass. "Ray. Please be careful."   
  
He nods. "I will. Love you." Ray starts his old man walk toward the building.   
  
"Walk slower," Sadie yells out her window.   
  
He turns around, confused. "What? Why?"   
  
She grins, leering. "So I can look at your ass longer."   
  
Ray smirks and slaps his ass for her benefit. He reaches the front doors with the speed of a three-legged turtle. George is waiting for him, cigarette glued to his lip. Luz squints through a plume of smoke.   
  
"Pers, I think your wife is making lascivious hand gestures at you."   
  
"Yeah." Ray snatches Luz's cigarette out of his mouth, inhales. Much better. He exhales and says, "You should have been there the time she translated for the deaf at the Children's Hospital.  _Big_  mistake."   
  
"First of all, that never happened. Second of all? Smoking  _my_  cigarette is super gay, just so you know. You gonna save that cigarette? Put it in a scrap book, maybe draw a heart around it?"   
  
Ray makes a face. "Dude, it's not gay, I'm just lazy."   
  
"You're both."   
  
Ray thinks about this while they walk inside. "Maybe," he concedes.   
  
Everyone's gathered in a clump when Ray enters the ward. He thought he might feel nervous, a little shaky, but so far he's okay. Mostly, he's just sad to see how few patients are left without Jake and Alpha.   
  
River runs up to him, kisses his cheek soundly. "I'm glad you're back. Everyone else is a gigantic boob." She glances at Luz. "Except for him."   
  
Simon sighs heavily, but extends his hand to Ray. Ray shakes it. A small line of stitches marches over Simon's left eyebrow. "I'm glad you're okay," Simon says, with hardly any stick up his ass.   
  
Ray nods. "You too."   
  
Nate smiles shyly and pats Ray's arm. Even Reid is there, waving an awkward hello at Ray. Ray hands the paper bag he's carrying to Tate.   
  
"I brought something for you."   
  
Tate peers into the bag, then stares at Ray in what might be amazement. He pulls out an old game of  _Boggle._  Ray's mother brought it on her visit. Ray took one look and thought Tate might like it.   
  
"Maybe we can play later," Ray suggests.   
  
Tate nods. He steps close to hug Ray, changes his mind, backs up. He looks like he's doing some kind of clumsy dance. Tate reconsiders, holds his hand out, frowns deeply, then curls his hand into a fist.    
  
"We have to bump knuckles," Tate informs Ray without a hint of irony.   
  
Ray nods and carefully bumps Tate's knuckles.   
  
Tate holds the game to his chest. "This might be better than a jump rope," Tate tells Ray with an almost-smile, and heads off to a table with his prize.   
  
River pulls Ray onto the couch between herself and Adam.   
  
"Are you okay?" he asks her. "I feel like I haven't seen you in a while."   
  
"That's because you haven't," she informs him. "Also, in case you were wondering, Simon's brain still works even though Mister Wolf hit him."   
  
"Uh, that's great," Ray says, scratching his chin. "Look, River. What happened with Tate, I know you were just trying to protect him. You didn't mean to hurt him."   
  
River purses her lips. "I didn't break anything that wasn't already broken."    
  
River's right, but that's not the point.   
  
"Plus," she says conspiratorially, "I've been wanting to punch Tate for quite some time."   
  
Ray stifles a laugh. "I understand, but no more kicking  _or_  punching, okay?"   
  
"I know," River says, making a  _duh_  face. "Doctor Reid already said."    
  
"Thank you very much for the card, by the way. I really like it."   
  
"You're welcome." She picks at the hem of her sweater. "It wasn't a very good likeness though." River tilts her head back, flops her hands into her lap and sighs heavily.   
  
"What's wrong?"   
  
"I miss Mister Wolf and Ben," she admits, voice hitching. "And Alpha." She turns watery eyes on Ray. "Do you know where Alpha is?"   
  
"No," Ray says gently. "The police can't find him." River's face crumples into despair and Ray adds a quick, "Yet."   
  
River sinks back into the cushions, shoulders hunched, like she's still trying to fold herself smaller. "Why did everyone leave?"   
  
Ray moves carefully, mindful of his stitches, so he can see her face. "Not everyone," he reminds her.   
  
River bites her lower lip, her gaze sliding toward Adam. "You're right. She stretches an arm across Ray and awkwardly pats Adam's shoulder. "I'm glad you're still here."   
  
Adam turns to smile at River, and much to Ray's dismay, there are tears on Adam's face. He takes River's hand for a moment, squeezes, lets go.   
  
"Adam? What's the matter?"   
  
River gets up, walks around the couch, and perches on the armrest so she can be closer to the distraught young man. This simple act of comfort makes Ray realize how much bigger, how much  _better_  River is than everyone else here, Ray included. She's full of sadness and confusion, but also kindness. River's mind might be really fucked, but her heart isn't.   
  
" _I_  like you," she tells Adam. "I like you even more than ravens and writing desks."   
  
"Thanks," Adam says. He doesn't look at River or Ray. "This was the first place I've felt safe since...since I can remember. I felt safe enough that I could be on my own. That Amanda finally said it was okay to come out. But now...now I don't know." Adam drops his head into his hands. "I'm so fucking tired."   
  
"I know," Ray says. "But you'll get through this with Amanda's help, with my help. Fuck, George and Doctor Reid are going to help too." Ray nods toward Simon, speaks in a loud whisper. "I wouldn't count on Simon for much, though."   
  
It's not enough to make Adam smile, but he rolls his eyes. Ray considers this a good start.   
  
"Adam, just because you feel safe doesn't mean you are. Conversely, just because you feel scared, that doesn't mean you're not safe. Everybody feels scared, you just have to learn how to live with it. How to control the fear instead of letting it control you. And I promise you, Adam, that's something you can learn."   
  
Adam lifts his eyes to Ray's face. "But Jake hurt you. How can...how can you come back here? How do you keep the fear, that memory, from overwhelming you?"   
  
Ray shrugs. Getting stabbed sucks ass, but it's still better than suffering the myriad levels of retardation in Iraq. It's better than listening to RPGs thunder endlessly in the sky, or the constant heavy dread that those RPGs are heading your way. It's a hell of a lot better than seeing kids die. Lieutenant Fick had this whole speech he gave Reporter once, about how safety depends on where you're standing, your point of view. At the time Ray thought it was all bullshit. Now he's not so sure.   
  
"It helps that Jake isn't here," Ray admits. "But I don't want the fear to overwhelm me. I've seen a lot of shitty stuff, Adam. This room--" Ray gestures around them "--is not the scariest place I've been, believe me. I can come back here because this place is my home." A smiles ghosts across Ray's face. "And you guys are my family."   
  
Luz leans over the back of the couch and puts one arm around Adam, one arm around Ray. "That's so beautiful I'm not even gonna mention how fucking gay it sounds."   
  
* * *   
  
They're sitting on the smoking bench outside. Well, what used to be the smoking bench. Luz offers Ray a Lucky Strike. They sit in silence, watching a copper sun sink below the horizon. They've been off duty for a good 15 minutes, but neither man is in any particular hurry to get home.   
  
"So. You survived your first day back."   
  
Ray nods. "Yeah. I guess I did."   
  
"Hey." George kicks Ray's foot. "Did you mean what you said about this place being your home?"   
  
Ray watches a V of geese cross the sky. "I guess so. It's like an abusive fucked-up crack house foster home...but that still counts." He looks sideways at Luz. "And you guys are all inbred, messed-up loser retards, but fuck it. I'm kind of used to you by now."   
  
George leans forward and exhales a stream of smoke directly into Ray's face.   
  
Ray waves the cloud away, sputtering, laughing.   
  
"I thought you were going to quit smoking, anyway."   
  
"That's right,  _you_  thought. As long as I don't smoke around Delia, the baby, in, or near the house, I'm still allowed to kill myself as slowly as I want."   
  
"Sweet."   
  
In the distance, dark clouds form a gray film across the evening sky. It smells like rain and some kind of flower. Lilies, maybe. His grandma used to grow white flowers around her front porch. When Ray was little, he thought they looked like an army of stars. Ray likes the smell of rain. He likes actual rain too, especially when he can enjoy it from a dry vantage point.   
  
"I was afraid you were gonna quit," Luz says abruptly, blowing a perfect smoke ring.   
  
"Smoking?"   
  
"No, dumbass. The job."   
  
Ray snorts derisively. "Fuck that. Where else can I hang around playing board games, smoking, and drinking shitty coffee and get paid for it?"   
  
"I hear Starbucks is hiring."   
  
"That's my backup plan." Ray puffs out his chest "That's right homes, someday I'm going to be in charge of the Starbucks bathroom key and make fun of fat chicks, homeless guys, and college dickheads. I'll have  _all_  the power, yo."   
  
"Don't you  _already_  make fun of fat chicks, homeless guys, and college dickheads?"   
  
"Sure, but I'll be able to mock people while I make rich botox bitch soccer moms their fucking gay-ass half-whipped low-fat vanilla caramel lattes." Ray shrugs. "And I'll probably only piss in half of them."   
  
Luz laughs. "That's because you're a fucking gentleman, Ray."   
  
"I  _know._  How the fuck did I even get this awesome?"   
  
"It's a real mystery," Luz muses, then grins. "Hey, I've got one. How about Sedated Willows?"   
  
"Oh no," Ray shakes his head, annoyed. "That's all they fucking ever do, string a bunch of retarded adjectives and nouns together." He glares up at the darkening sky. "Add a little descriptive bullshit to a lake, river, or hill and  _bam_ , you got yourself a fucking treatment facility." Ray points to the sign on the wall for emphasis. "Silver Hills, my fucking ass."   
  
"Yeah, yeah, I know." Luz blows another smoke ring, rests an elbow on one knee. He points his cigarette toward a tree. "Chunky oaks."   
  
Ray stares at Luz. "Jesus Christ, what does that even mean? It sounds like some kind of fucked-up ice cream for hippy vegan fucks."   
  
"Fine. How about Valium River?"   
  
Ray taps a finger of ash to the ground. "Saint Straight Jacket of the Silver Buckle."   
  
"Nice." Then: "Psycho Mountain."   
  
"Sounds like a goddamn roller coaster."   
  
"I know.  _I'd_  ride it." Luz blows smoke out his nostrils. "Holy shit, I can take the kid on roller coasters!" George grins like he's a kid himself. "I can't fuckin' wait."   
  
Ray imagines Luz kicking a ball around the backyard with Georgie Junior. Delia will be watching, cheering them on. They'll be laughing. They'll be happy. And there's very little chance fucking Godfather will call in an air strike and vaporize them all into a fucking spoonful of dust.   
  
On one side of the world there's safety, relatively speaking. On the other side, there's chaos, where killing kids and grandmothers isn't even off limits. Christ.   
  
Luz nudges Ray's arm. "Hey. Where'd you go?"   
  
Ray closes his eyes, opens them. Once, a long time ago, Brad asked him that same question.   
  
"Nowhere," Ray says. "I'm right here, dude." The hospital can be a drag, but it isn't a shit hole. Ray gets to work with people who aren't completely retarded. As gay as it sounds, what he said about Silver Balls being home is true. Yeah, Ray's had plenty of shit luck. But he was also blessed with a good mom. He has an awesome--not to mention hot--wife. Ray was born an only child, but the Marines gave him brothers he'll never forget. And now he has another family. A little more fucked up than the rest, but still worth being part of.    
  
Ray yawns, stretches, gets to his feet. Together, he and Luz head for the gate to the parking lot.   
  
"I hear we're getting a newbie end of the week," George tells him.   
  
"Really? Who?"   
  
"I don't know," Luz says around his cigarette. "Some guy who won the lottery." He inserts his ID into the security slot and the gate clicks open.   
  
"You're shitting me."   
  
"Usually, yeah. But not this time."   
  
The storm clouds roll closer. "Wish I'd win the lottery," Ray mutters, kicking a pebble across the parking lot.   
  
George gives Ray's back a cheerful pat. "Fuck man, you're rich in  _friends_ . Which is kind of weird since you're such an asshole."   
  
Ray shoves Luz toward a rose bush. "Ha ha."   
  
Luz shoves back, laughing. George stops, his elbow precariously close to Ray's side. " _Dude._  I got it." He turns to Ray, frames the words with his hands: "Bedlam and Breakfast."   
  
Ray is impressed. "Fucking-A," he concedes. "You win, homes."   
  
Luz pulls out his car keys, points an Invader Zim keychain at Ray. "And none of that vending machine, shit, Ray. I expect real coffee tomorrow."   
  
Thunder rumbles overhead.   
  
Ray scoffs. "Good luck with that."   
  
George grins, unlocks the car.   
  
Ray pulls himself inside as the first drops of rain begin to fall. 


End file.
